My little world is spinning out of control.

(not really … but I’ve always tended to live with one foot on the dramatic side of life)

I realize things change. I realize that sometimes life throws a curve ball. And I can adjust with the best of them. I can. More often than not I slam the curve ball out of the park. But it does take me a second to register and accept the fact that a 90 mph sphere is hurdling in my direction.

(Alright, enough of the baseball analogies. Cuz let’s be honest. I know next to nothing about sports, let alone enough to draw analogies from them.)

The thing is—life is changing all the time. And that’s ok. But I like schedules and plans and outlines. It’s fine (sort of) if the plan changes, but I prefer to have something in place to begin with. But because life changes, I very much appreciate the little things I can always count on. Things that are always there or that always happen.

Like my dad calling every time it’s daylight savings and saying, “Is it just me, or does it feel like 5:00?” when it’s now 6:00 or vice versa in the Spring.

Or my granddad asking, “Who is this?!” when I call him. Then I say, “Krista.” And then he says, “Krista! My favorite! Where are you?” And I say, “Utah.” And he says, “You sound like you’re right next door!”

Or my mom, when she talks about her flowers. They’re always “Bursting! Bursting with color!” (That’s of course right before she kills them. Which is another thing I can count on—mother and her black thumb.)

Or texting with Frit in the middle of the day. (My phone really did just beep … it’s her.)

Or the children at Church singing “I Often Go Walking” for Mother’s Day and “I’m So Glad When Daddy Comes Home” on Father’s Day (no matter where you are in the United States).

Grandma’s mashed potatoes (and slightly burnt rolls) at Sunday dinner.

A hug and kiss from little Cooper every time he sees me.

Animal crackers on every visit from Grandpa Q.

Good grades in English.

Church every Sunday.

Fish tacos at Rumbi, Tomato Bisque at Haggerman’s, Crème Brule at The Garden, Root Beer float from DQ, Caramel Apple Spice from Starbucks, Chicken and Tomato Pizza from Firehouse (with a side salad and ranch), Playboy sushi roll from The Happy Sumo, Jamoca shakes from Arby’s.

The Monday morning routine of “How was your weekend?” at work with Shanna.

I could list a million more. These are just a few of the things I love. Things I look forward to. Things, like I said, that I can always count on. Things by which I can measure time and life.

(Again, pardon the dramatics. I’m very distraught.)

Because today one of my “things” … changed.

We got a new crossing guard at the corner.

And I don’t think I like it.

The new one looks sweet enough, but she didn’t wave to me when I passed on my way to the train. And she didn’t have a broom with her to sweep away the rocks on the sidewalk. And she didn’t … well, I just really want the old crossing guard back.

What if he’s sick, or hurt, or in the hospital? Or what if he just plain quit? No. He doesn’t seem like the quitting type. Or maybe you can only be a crossing guard for so long till they make you retire? Who knows?

Maybe he’s on vacation. Oh please, let him just be on vacation.

Cuz all I know is if he’s not back soon, I might have to write a letter to the city. And another to the school district. To tell them how disoriented my day has been today. How my routine is all in a tizzy.

All on account of the new kid in town.

(If anyone knows what happened to the old crossing guard, please let me know immediately. Before I have a breakdown.)