Dead Animals and Magical Things

In last few months, I have not been able to tell whether God is really giving me extra special blessings or whether they seem extra special because life feels intensified by recent events. I have, for instance, in the last three weeks:
found a dead squirrel in my yard (it was the one with only one eye, and it looked quite certain that he had died because he fell out of a tree);
slammed my right thumb in my car door (don't ask me how, I couldn't recreate the action if I tried) hard enough that it's still not working properly;
dealt with a poopy diaper that would not end beginning with poop on Harper, on my leg, on the floor, more on the floor discovered a half hour later and more on Harper's foot discovered several hours later;
explained to two cops who showed up at 11 p.m. at a girlfriend's house that we four thirty-somethings were not being abused nor having a raucous party (don't we wish!);
procured a grant for the organization that I work for that enabled us to hire a twelve-year-old girl for the summer who cuts herself;
soothed Asher to sleep while he itched and said, "Don't want it," to his heat rash;
helped Michael move my friend Megan's furniture out of Megan's storage unit, so placed because she broke up with her fiance and moved the furniture out of his house, and, which, said former fiance later helped Michael move into his apartment;
met a lovely goat farmer who mistook Megan and me for a lesbian couple with "our" two lovely children;
been trying unsuccessfully for over three weeks to cure myself of neck pain (a sure sign, if the thumb slamming incident wasn't enough, that I'm carrying too much);
picked up some of my dad's belongings from the house of my youngest sister's deceased boyfriend's (Tim) mother's home, where I saw the guest house my sister lived in with Tim (the wierdness of stuff and space will not end);
been surprised by how heavy a box of someone's ashes are when I picked up my dad's ashes off the funeral home's coffee table; and
found a dead bird in my bedroom with his heart lying next to him.

With the heaviness of life, the seeming difficulty of doing something basic like reading Asher a book (tonight said activity was accompanied by two spillings of milk all over the floor), the cottonwoods have been a reminder of lighter things. For weeks, the white fluff from the cottonwood trees swirled around town, up and down on slight breezes, making small summer snow drifts and reminding me that there really are magical things. There are lighter things. Cottonwood fluff, bubbles, rain, wild flowers, water.

I do have to say, thought, that if I find a third dead animal in my homestead, I'm going to be greatly concerned.