Inspiration comes from the smallest of people at the strangest of times.

It was a long day yesterday ... I was tired.  I was grumpy.  I was hot.  The following is a detailed account of my evening ...

My "to do" list of things that kicks in once the kids are in bed is ever growing.  Dishes, laundry, cleaning, personal "organization" and paperwork, and trying to squeeze in a workout.

So after doing the dishes and picking up countless toys, books, and tiny pieces of  ripped up  paper (what is THAT about?), it is finally ME time.  Time to work out.  Time to try to reverse some of the negative impact of childbearing on my aging body.

I was SO ready for ME time.  (A long weekend of indulging my every craving for all things 'ice cream related' had left me feeling somewhat bloated and baggy.)

So with Curtis and Luke out for the evening and Charlotte sleeping soundly away, I put Elliot in bed with a big sigh of relief and went down to the basement to start my workout.

And ...

No dice.  Elliot is up and coming down the stairs.

For a glass of water.

Which is already beside his bed.

And ... instantly I'm irritated.

Up the stairs we go to his room to drink some water and tuck in and kiss goodnight, again.

And I head back to the basement, back on the cross trainer and I find my groove and ... Elliot again.

This time the music isn't right.

"It's too happy, so I can't close my eyes, because the music is too happy for me to sleep."


I'm too tired and cranky and hot to argue with him about the music so up we go to change the CD.  And tuck in and kiss goodnight.  Again.

And I'm more irritated.

Back I go to the basement - the stinking hot basement - back on the cross trainer, back in the groove.  I manage to finish the 20 minutes.  Then, sweating I start in on the weights and sit ups and lunges and ...

And ...

Elliot.

"My watch fell and I can't reach it."


"His" watch is actually a watch that belonged to Elliot's Great Grandmother who is no longer with us and it's a watch that he insisted he be allowed to take home from Grandma and Grandpa's (Elliot suffers from an extremely forthright case of kleptomania).  So, needless to say, I was worried about the watch, and, trying to control my temper, I walked upstairs AGAIN to his bedroom.

The watch - so I was told - had "accidentally fallen" between the wall and the bed.  (The bed is a large, heavy bunk bed wedged in a corner of the room between a bookcase and the wall.  And under the bunk bed is a spare mattress.  A heavy spare mattress.  And on the mattress is about 3 years of dust, some old schoolwork and some dirty socks.)

I just looked at him and said, "I can't.  I can't get it Elliot.  Mommy is too tired and too hot and too busy right now to go moving a bunch of crap out of the way to get the watch.  It's going to have to stay there until the morning when Daddy can help me move stuff."

I was done.  I was angry with Elliot.  I was tired and hot and wanted my ME time and the bed was too heavy and there was too much stuff and too much dirt and dust and crap and I was beyond irritated that he had to drop the watch where it couldn't be reached.

And Elliot began to sob.  Uncontrollable, heart breaking, body wracking sobs.

"I need it.  It can't stay there.  I have to have it.  Mommy.  I have to.  It can't stay there."


"I can't honey.  I just can't.  I don't know what else to say.  I just CAN'T."  (I couldn't.  There wasn't time.  I didn't have the energy.  I was angry at being interrupted.  I was angry at Elliot.  I was suddenly very angry at the number of hours I had to accomplish all the things that I needed to do in a day.  And that anger suddenly became defeat.  I was defeated.   And that feeling extended beyond me in that moment and I thought of my Dad and all that he's going through right now, and my Mom and I hurt for them and I spiraled quickly and sunk to the floor in tears.  Sobbing myself.)

"I can't Elliot.  Mommy can't right now.  You just have to go to sleep."

Elliot, more distressed now because his Mommy was sobbing and not understanding why, started to cry even more.  And then he said ...

"But Mommy ... you can.  You can.  I know you can.  You can do anything.  I promise.  You can do anything Mommy."


"You can do anything Mommy.  Please."


Could I?  Could I do anything?  I felt in that moment like I couldn't do anything right at all.

But he said again, "Please Mommy, you can.  You can do anything Mommy. Please."


And so, crying and angry and sweating all over the place, I moved the stupid heavy mattress with all the dust and the papers and the art and the dirty socks and I flattened myself as much as I could and I crawled under the bed - all the way under the bed - and I picked up the watch and I crawled back out and gave him the watch and put the stupid heavy mattress back under the bed  and I sat back covered in dust and looked at Elliot.

And he smiled.

And he said, "See Mommy, I knew you could do it.  You CAN do anything Mommy. Thank you Mommy.  You can not be sad now because I'll go to sleep because I have the watch."


(I'd like to say that this story ended with him falling quietly asleep in that moment, content with his Mommy's ability to do anything he needs at any moment, and that I finished my workout and felt a renewed sense of peace of mind, but, that's just not true.  Elliot was up for a bit longer wanting various things.  I did finish my workout but then went on to finish a partially eaten bag of Doritos (I blame the meltdown).  I didn't really get any ME time because the remainder of the night was filled with a crying baby and a sleepwalking Luke.  I was inspired though ... and that's a pretty good feeling.)

It started out as one of those days ...

I yelled at the kids because they were either under my feet and too demanding of my attention or because they were nowhere near me and completely unresponsive to my hollering for their attention.

My hair dryer started smoking ...

I dropped mango on my skirt ...

The kids and I argued ... a lot ...

We argued about breakfast ... at my frustration over the never ending feeding trough that occasionally occurs on those rarest of mornings when my kids (Elliot in particular) have "bottomless pit syndrome".  So we argued about why NO to another pear means NO.  (I was trying to avoid a mid-school-morning pooping session.)

We argued about why the kids were not allowed to go outside and ride the "little scooter" while I was trying to wrestle Charlotte into her coat simultaneously trying to avoid her sharp biting teeth.  (Charlotte has turned into a pint sized vampire and is currently biting anything that crosses in front of her face - including, but not limited to, cheeks, fingers, shoulders, arms, noses and ... bums.)  The boys went outside anyway and proceeded to argue about the "little scooter" which resulted in my "loosing the plot" as Luke likes to say.

I screamed at them to come back inside and ended my five to ten minute rant with "Mommy is VERY STRESSED OUT ..."

( ... a concept that is lost on a nine and four year old ...)

Halfway to the boys school I realized I'd left my lunch at home.  My choices were to drag all the kids home again (making us all very very late); send Luke and Elliot the remainder of the way to school alone (they probably would have been abducted); or sit on the sidewalk and cry.  I was just about to curl up on the pavement and have a good solid breakdown when Luke volunteered to run back to the house and get my lunch.  So, feeling somewhat ashamed that I was using my son's youth to my advantage and praying that he wouldn't meet some nefarious creature on the way into our house, I sent him running down the street with my keys to fetch my forgotten lunch.

This set Elliot off because he wanted to be a big boy and walk to school with Luke so despite my "getting a grip" on my own emotions, tears were still shed on the corner in front of the crossing guard who seemed not the least bit sympathetic to my obvious state of complete chaos and misfortune.

Elliot's crying agitated Charlotte and for whatever reason she bit herself on the hand, and, looking entirely confused, starting crying also.

I was just about to admit defeat and call in a mental health day when Luke appeared running up the street ... lunch and keys in hand.

He was extremely proud of himself.  I was too.

Elliot and Charlotte were still crying, so, feeling tentatively victorious that at least one thing had worked out, I told Elliot that if he could calm down a bit, maybe he and Luke could walk part of the way together without me.  He brightened significantly at this and we proceeded towards the school.  At one point I stopped and looked at Luke and Elliot and asked if they thought they could walk up the street to the school from where we were on their own.

Elliot was overcome with excitement and kept saying over and over "like a big boy? like a really big boy? I'm big now, right?"  

I assured him that we was indeed a very big boy and his wonderful, helpful big brother would take him to school.  He needed no further prompting and putting his backpack on thrust his hand into Luke's hand and said, "bye Mommy."

As I watched them walk up the road I prayed that all my mistakes and words I shouldn't have said to them that morning would be forgotten and they'd just remember that Mommy loved them and trusted them enough to let them go alone.

PS ... as I was praying and reflecting and watching the boys walk away, my heart full of love for my two big independent boys, Luke stopped and ran back and said, "don't worry Mommy, if anyone tries to take Elliot I have my skates with me and I'll take one out and slash them with it." 

 

Humpty Revisited

While walking to school on Monday Elliot was reciting the classic nursery rhyme "Humpty Dumpty" - this is Elliot's version ... 

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a WAAAALLL

Humpty Dumpty sat on a WAAAALLL

Humpty Dumpty had to FALL

All the ladies and the MAAAN and the horse

TRIED and TRIED but they didn't put ...

They couldn't put Sir Cumfrey TOGETHER

So ..... the ladies and the MAAAN and the horse

TRIED .... Sir Cumfrey was broken ..." 

(PAUSE) 

"Mommy?" 

"Yes Elliot?" 

"What is Humpty Dumpty about?" 

"Well, it's a nursery rhyme about a man who happens to be an egg and he's sitting on top of a very high wall." 

"Why is he on top of the wall?"  (Because Elliot is four years old and of course a four year old has no problem with an egg man as long as he's not sitting on top of a wall ...)

"Um, well, I'm not sure - it's just part of the story.  So, the story is about this man, who is an egg, who is on this high wall and one day he falls off the wall and because he's an egg and he's so fragile he breaks into thousands of tiny pieces.  And there are so many pieces that the King's Men couldn't put him back together.  He was really broken." 

"WEEELLLLL, but what is the story ABOUT?" 

"I think it's a story meant to remind little boys and little girls that they shouldn't sit on top of very high things because they might fall off and get very hurt and be really broken.  And sometimes when we make silly choices and do things that are dangerous we can get hurt and sometimes we can get so hurt we can't be fixed."  (I say this to him because I'm a Mom and I take every opportunity to remind my children that our choices have consequences.) 

"Um ......... OR it's a story about you shouldn't fall OFF the wall." 

(Pause) 

"Sir Cumfrey should have had a helmet on."

Good Faith, Good Reason ...

I was unable to write for a long time.  I couldn't form thoughts.  Creativity was at a standstill.

I kept looking for stories, for inspiration, and my kids gave me so much to draw from ... but it wasn't enough.

Trying to write with three kids, work, housework, other activities just wasn't feasible ... writing was a luxury I couldn't afford.  I made myself a promise however, that I would write should anything "write worthy" happen.

And it happened.  Yesterday.

Elliot (formally known as "Bruce Lee") was in the van with my husband after school and he said he saw God.

Just like that.  Just matter of fact.

Curtis asked him what he meant and Elliot replied, "I saw God walking with a man."

Elliot explained that God was with the man because the man needed help, so God was with him.  And then Elliot just stopped talking and put his thumb in his mouth and looked out the window again.

When I got into the van a few minutes later Curtis told me that Elliot saw God.

"Really, buddy,  you did!?!" I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, "he was walking with the man, because the man needed help, so he was walking with the man because he was God."

I had no words so I said nothing ...

Then a few moments later ... "Mommy???"

"Yes Elliot?"

"Does God have a walking stick?"

"Um ... probably, maybe, I don't know?" (Was my brilliant response ...)

"Yeah, yeah, he does.  I think he does, because when God was with the man he had a big stick and so God has a big walking stick."

And in went the thumb again and he quietly looked out the window, completely confident that there is a higher power taking care of us.

Just walking around.

Ready to be seen by those of us who are looking.

And His name is God.