Perspective

Man, what a day.  I love my boys.  I love them. I love them. I love them.  I love them.

But some days, I just need a break.  Wow, yes I do.  Last Thursday was one of those days.  I woke up (especially hormonal) and wondered, “What can I do to kill the most time, rid the kids of the most energy, and exert the least effort on my part?”  Well, I knew that I had a friend who wanted to buy one of the products I sell.  Normally I would just have her order from my website so that the distributor would send it her way, but today I thought, “Hey, that’s something I use, and I have an extra.  I’ll drive a couple of towns over, give her one, go to the jumpy fun house there so the kids can go insane for a couple of hours, and then I’ll drive back and hope the boys are asleep by the time we get home.”  That sounds like a day.

Little Guy woke at 3:00 am, ripped off half of his diaper, stood up in his crib, peed on the floor, and cried out, “Mama!”  I realized he had a couple of mosquito bites that were driving him nuts and gave up after a few attempts to get him back to sleep in his crib.  So, he ended up in my bed, on top of me, for the rest of the night.  About 5:00am Big Boy woke himself up coughing and found his way to our bed as well.   The snuggles and smooches are all so precious, but eventually I just NEED SOME EVER-LOVIN’ SLEEP!               So Daddy got up at 7:00, attempted to turn the box fan on high (our noise-maker of choice), gave up after he realized it had committed suicide at some point during the night, and began the breakfast ritual.  I slept for a solid hour (incorporating cries of, “ I need MORE syrup!” and “Dadda!!  Car! Car! Yellow!  Mama!!” into my morning dreams) and then woke to attack the day.  I finished the breakfast routine, played outside while drinking my magnificent, blessed, strong, black coffee, threw dinner in the crock pot, dressed everyone (including myself) and headed out the door at the crack of 11:00.  We stopped at the grocery store (out of car seats, into cart, taking everything back out of the cart after the boys threw random items in, toy tantrum, out of cart, and back into car seats) for 2 bananas, a box of raisins and some tampons, and headed out on our adventure.

Thirty minutes into our drive I thought, “Hey, we should stop by my good friend Carla’s house.  She’s a public school teacher (like I was until a couple of years ago), but maybe she quit and stays home with the kids now.  Now, I realize that sounds absurd.  If we’re such great friends, how would I not even know whether or not she has left her 12 year-long career?  Well, somehow that’s how it seems to work.  I spend all sorts of time with my local friends whose kids are playmates with my kids, but I lose touch with wonderful friends from previous lifetimes.  The good news is, when I see those friends, it’s like I’ve just seen them the week before.

Anyway, my hunch was accurate.  Carla was there.  My diva friend who always has her hair perfectly styled and wears gorgeous accessories that perfectly match her stunning high heels answered the door in cut-off sweats, a tank top, flip flops, a baseball hat, and no make-up.  (She was still wearing all of her diamonds, of course.  I mean, this is Texas after all). She has joined the ranks of the SAHM glamorous.  I love it.  So the impromptu play-date began.  My boys found her battery-powered riding toys and knew this was the nirvana of which they had never even dared to dream.  So while we were dragging all of the exciting toys out of the shed for them to ride, Carla’s little man decided to get his wheels situated all by himself.  You see, his riding toy was sitting innocently on the porch of the guesthouse.  So while Mama and I were finding toys for the others, he jumped onto his, gunned it, and jumped his almost-4-year-old self right off the porch, flipped his car mid-air, and landed on his back with his truck on top of him.  Carla was busy helping my kids, so she missed it.  I ran (as fast as my red fake-crocodile mile-high wooden clogs would go) across the 2 acres, scooped him up, and cradled him while he screamed. By this time Carla was right beside us and picked him up out of my arms to comfort him and evaluate his injuries.  

But here’s what struck me a bit later:  When I was running across the yard to that little boy and then cradling him, he wasn’t my friend’s child.  He was my child too.  Nothing in the world mattered other than getting to that little boy as fast as I could.  Once I realized he was okay, I was completely focused on comforting him.  Nothing else existed.  I’m not saying this because I think I’m some incredibly heroic person.  I’m not.  But I am a mother, and every once in a while something happens that makes it hit me suddenly and clearly just how much that role has changed me and defines me so much more than anything else in my life.   Sure, before I had my own children, I would have raced to help, but I wouldn’t have been filled with the utter terror and then overwhelming love that overcame me that day.

When I was a kid, my mother was an elementary school principal.  I remember overhearing her relay a conversation she had had with one of the teachers at her school.  She told her, “Every one of those children in your class is someone’s baby.  They are someone’s whole world.  You have to remember that every day.”  So throughout my nine years of being a public school teacher, my mind knew that.  But on Thursday I wondered what it would be like to teach now that my heart knows it so well too.

I stayed with Carla’s youngest and my two while she ran her boy to the doctor, who told her he might end up with a few dead baby teeth but wouldn’t have any other problems.  Once she got home, we chatted a bit and then I dropped off my friend’s order and headed home.  Two sleeping boys and I pulled into the driveway at about 4:45.  My husband pulled in right behind us and motioned for me to get into his car.  Why was he home so early?  As soon as I got into the car, I knew.  He was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and flip flops and handed me a folder.  Yep, it was a severance package.  He had been laid off.  I’m pretty sure he expected me to lose my mind, but I didn’t, not even a little. I had just had a day that threw everything into perspective so clearly.  It’s funny how things work that way. We are all healthy.  No one is sick, no one is hurt, and we have a house full of so much love and so much laughter that it’s a bit ridiculous.  We’re gonna be okay.

By the way, six days later he is already juggling offers because he is a rockstar.  Life is good.