the end of the story

We rushed outside today to greet Tim on his bike, excited that he'd been given an early mark. Until we saw his face. He'd been fired.
That good karma, that 'isn't God amazing' that started with helping a guy on the side of the road and landed Tim a job putting bikes together, ended with a day and a half of unexpected, ranting abuse.
So tonight we ordered pizza, sat out on the back deck in the cool and the quiet and just took it all in. And after pizza, I picked up some stray chalk and started to draw. Long curvy lines and sharp, erratic ones. Trying not to think about design but just to process my feelings. Tully came and joined in, blissfully unaware of the turmoil. And Evie came to destroy, as she does. My little monkey (or Tasmanian Devil, depends on the day, as to how I choose to see it). She systematically, and with great flair, rubbed her hands through my lines. I just watched, slightly amused and a little numb. And just as purposefully, she stood up, and took herself back inside. Her work here was done.
When I finally went to get up as well to come in for story time, I noticed this little hand print on my leg. And I did feel like it was a little message for me. Something about 'out of the destruction...'
It's still just a tiny seed of hope in my heart. I'm not ready to read anymore into it yet. Maybe just that this mess isn't the end of the story.