It was shower time for Lee, and we were closing in on bedtime, the final stretch, after a busy day of shuttling five kids to and from 4 different schools. Lee showers in my bathroom, so I came into my room as I called him for his shower. He entered the room rather quickly, and as he rounded the corner toward the bathroom vanity, I thought I heard the sound of quiet sobs. It only took seconds for me to realize that Lee was crying. Concerned, I approached him, and as I came closer, he turned toward me, and then quickly turned back to the mirror. Just as I was asking him what was wrong, he blurted out, "Something is stuck in my nose!"
Have you ever had one of those moments when your heart actually skips a beat, and you swear you hear that movie sound effect they make when someone is stopped suddenly with a shock? There are probably more than one, so you can insert whichever one you think of...it'll apply just fine. You get the point. That heart-sick feeling of doom. I saw us spending the second night of the new school year in the ER. Would Lee be too tired for school the next morning? Shoot! There goes hopes for Perfect Attendance! What horrid plague-like illness will he catch while we wait for a doctor to see him? Because there will be plenty of time to be exposed to it all. Dislodging stuffed nostrils tend to take a back seat to head trauma, or ingested poison, or car accident victims, or all of the other more critical cases that grace an emergency room. All those thoughts passed through my head in a matter of seconds.
I brought Lee close to me, put my hand on the top of his head as I gently tilted it back to see the inside of his nose. "What did you put in there?" I asked. "My Ironman head," he replied.
(Self-talk moment.) OK. Deep breath. Stay calm. He's a little kid. Remember when you were 6 and you bit your amethyst birthstone ring so badly that you flattened the gold circle that was supposed to be wrapped around your finger? Grace, Kristi...give him grace.
Lovingly, I stood him in front of me, both of us facing the mirror. Looking at his reflection, I pressed the side of his right nostril closed with my fingers, and I told him to blow. It uncorked on the first blow, and Ironman's head bounced on the vanity counter two times. It was free.
He was visibly relieved, and without comment, reached for a tissue. I thought he was going to wipe his tears, and his nose (he did, after all, just blow), but instead he reached for the snotty head with the tissue and began wiping it clean (Hugo's influence has rubbed off). I filled the sink with softsoap and hot water, and I washed it clean. As we silently worked together, I kept catching his face in the mirror. I wanted to laugh *so badly* but I was holding back so that I could respect his little heart. Then, I saw it. The first signs of an upward turn in the corners of his mouth. Quickly, he used every muscle in his face to wipe it away, but it was all I needed. "Can we laugh about this now?" He came back at me with a, "No." But then, his lips gave him away, and before I knew it, I was laughing...and so was he.
We settled down, and I asked him, "So what was the lesson you learned tonight?" He said, "That when I get something stuck in my nose, all I have to do is blow." Ahem. "OK, Lee, that is a good lesson. But that is your #2 lesson. There is a #1 lesson. Do you know what it is?" Blank stare. "Your #1 lesson is this: Don't put anything in your nose."
It's little moments like this that make me marvel. I am so happy that I get to be around. That I get to be there when little mini-catastrophes come up with my kids, and they need a parent to help them solve their problems. Things like stuck Ironman heads, or junior high drama with junior high girls, or the realization that a college class needs to be dropped due to its incompatibility with other classes that semester. Little moments that matter, and little moments where the child needs the availability of a parent.
When I was in the throes of crisis, I used to observe simple things around me that I craved. Children shopping with their mom. Oh my gosh...this one killed me. Before, I would always have my kids with me--I loved shopping with them. As a single mom, working 6-7 days a week, the only time I could shop was late at night at the only 24-hour store around...stupid Wal-Mart. I grew to hate that store. Partly because I'd see other kids, and I'd so want mine. But, Hello! It was midnight, and there would be parents out shopping with their kids!! It never ceased to amaze and disgust me. But even that needs its own examination. Maybe seeing them was too familiar? Nine times out of ten, the families that are out at midnight, shopping with their kids (and getting mad at the kids for crying), are families in crisis as well. I think the deeper fear was that I would forever be amongst such people, also lacking in poor judgement, just as my peers. I so feared I was just as bad as them, or that I would become just as bad.
Other things that I used to observe and crave...being able to take my kids to do fun things during their breaks from school. Kind of hard to go and do, when you have to be at work before dawn, and then on to the next job right after. And there were no lack of families around me, going, and doing. There were times that my kids would get invited to join them, and I was happy that they could go, but, well, it just wasn't the same. What I wanted was what I couldn't have, and what they couldn't get as they went along with other friends or family...precious time together, with them.
This week I have complained a lot. Like..a lot, a lot. Complained that what I naively thought would be only one crazy day of shuttling kids around has turned into 4 days of driving-craziness so far. Leaving the house at 7:40, 11:00, 1:00, 1:45, 2:40, 3:34, 5:00, and 6:50 has gotten quite annoying. All this while filling out and signing school forms, looking for college required reading, shopping for dinner, making dinner, doing laundry, writing children's books, and feeling guilt over neglecting my blog. Oh, and don't even get me started on the ironing. By last night, I had offended 4 out of 5 children, and 1 husband with my sour attitude.
So, what gives? Can I never be satisfied? Sometimes I wonder about that. Sometimes I feel like the dark cloud of dissatisfaction and disillusionment will secretly hang over me for all my years, in spite of my great life, and the positive attitude I choose to carry on the outside. It's those moments when discouragement sets in, and I feel the presence of something dark and foreboding lurking in the recesses of my hopes and dreams, almost willing them away as I see their beauty unfold.
And then a little boy enters my room with a nose stuffed with the head of an action figure. And I'm there. And together, we solve his mini-calamity. And we laugh. And then...it's in moments like these that I find my smile isn't only on my outside, but it's deep within me as well. I count my blessings, and I give the dark and foreboding shadows the boot. Because it's impossible, no matter how bright my view might be, to see the beauty through the ashes of darkness.
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