Chris and Miss

Several years ago, I met a boy that I have yet to forget and whom I occasionally catch myself wondering about.  This was before I had children of my own, and while I was working with at-risk youth, in a school.  This boy was a second grader, who had been stricken by a flesh eating bacteria, following an accident, in his yard.  He was severly ill, and would eventually have one of his legs amputated.  Additionally he lost so much memory that he was forced to start over, and learn everything he had been taught, again.  I watched him struggle as he scooted around the room, on the floor, because he preferred not to use his walker.  I witnessed him marvel at cotton balls while rediscovering them- having no recollection of what they were.  This boy always smiled at me when he arrived and was an instant celebrity, among the other children.  They had been raising money for him, while he was in the hospital, and wanted nothing more than to play with him, when he returned to school.  I know that he was eventually fitted with a prosthetic leg and I would not be surprised to learn that he is flourishing in school.  I have never forgotten the admiration that I felt for this boy, or the dedication, of his Dad.  I watched this man- a single parent- struggle every day to help make his boy well, while never showing impatience or frustration, when things didn’t go as planned.  He made it a point to see him to every therapy session- to be with him every step of the way, in his recovery.  He was the epitome of a dedicated parent, and no matter how tough things got, he always held his head high and told his son, “it is going to be okay…  you are just like all the other kids.”

Although I admired and respected this man’s dedication toward his only son, and could sympathize with it, I didn’t completely understand it- until I had children.  From the start of each of my pregnancies, I knew that I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure that my babies were safe and healthy.  No matter how sleep deprived or staggeringly exhausted I look, I still find myself wanting to absorb the pain that my children are in, so that they don’t have to hurt.  Whether it be- the stomach flu, or a sore throat, an ear infection, or teething pain (which I fully intend to question God about when I arrive in Heaven- seriously,why does it have to hurt so badly when baby teeth are poking through?) I wish that I, as a mother, held the power to make them not feel pain. 

When Peyton was two-years-old, he had to have tubes put into his ears.  I knew that this was a positive course of action, as he had been on antibiotics for six weeks straight, and the ears were still full of fluid and infected.  Logically, I agreed with the Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist that we were referred to.  We arrived at the day surgery center, he clutching a Buzz Lightyear doll, and me so terrified you would have thought he was preparing to donate a kidney.  Chris was in Iraq, serving his first deployment, and I was left to freak out in the waiting room alone, after they took our little boy away.  I sat there for five straight panic-filled moments, until the surgeon arrived to tell me that Peyton was fine and that he would be out of recovery shortly.  “It’s already over?” was my response.  “Yes, and he did great,” the tall doctor, with the nice demeanor, said.  Believe me, short surgery or not, I cuddled my little super hero closely for days, kissing him on the forehead and hoping that I had made the right decision to have him operated on.  Apparently, I did.  He remained fussy for the week, but has only had one ear infection since.

Almost five years later, and in the middle of Chris’ second deployment to Iraq, I sat in a waiting room as a nurse took my baby, Allison, away to have tubes put into her ears and her adenoids taken out.  It was like history repeating itself, with the added bonus of swollen adenoids.  This proceedure took longer, but I thankfully had my mom there to keep me company.  I sat staring at the clock and waiting for the surgeon.  I started to hold my breath as we approached the fifteen minute mark.  When the surgeon came out of the operating room, he was smiling.  That is always a good sign, I thought.  He informed me that she did wonderful and was resting.  I could go with my mom to get a cup of coffee, and that she would be out of recovery, in about thirty minutes.  Actually, she woke up in twelve minutes and wanted nothing more than to cuddle and sleep in my arms.  I rocked her while she slept and cried intermittently, as I held her close.  She was so scared and sore that I spent the next several days holding her, and watching over her, while she slept.  We also had a huge production in order for her let me administer her prescribed ear drops.  Before she would even let me near her, I had to give them to myself, Maddie, Peyton and our dog, Macy- who really had no idea what we were pretending to do, but is so starved for affection that she will oblige to anything.

Four days following Christmas, I took my oldest to the doctor, because of recurring sore throats.  She had her tonsils and adenoids removed on Monday.  Again, my husband is deployed- I am sensing a theme here.  She told me that the only thing worse than having to have your tonsils taken out, is having to have them taken out when your Dad is in Iraq.  That broke my heart.  Let me tell you though, my Madison, is one tough little girl.  She is the kid who rarely missed school, even though she arrived most mornings out of the week, with a sore throat.  She is the kid who didn’t ask for pain medicine, swore that she was fine, even though her tonsils were the size of golf balls.  

I have spent the past three days trying to coax her to take her prescribed antibiotics, as well as, tylenol and motrin.  I have also felt utterly guilty for being the one to sign the release form for the surgery, which is causing her pain.  I know logically that it was the right thing to do, but I find myself wishing so badly that she could be well and I could be sick, so that she doesn’t have to hurt.  I look at her pale face as she rests, and feel such an abundance of love and pride for her- I just wish that I could do more to help her.   

I also know that there is a teenager out there who has a prosthetic leg, whose Dad would do anything to switch places with him.  If he could, he would absorb the pain that his son has endured, and fight the battle for him.  Recently, I was thinking about the saying, “God never gives us more than we can handle.”  I started to say to myself- wow, He must be thinking that I am a superhero. 

But, then it dawned on me that although I might be stong, I’ve got nothing on my kids… or that little boy, that I used to know.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I am terrible at keeping New Year’s Resolutions. I mean, it’s fairly pointless to commit to doing something different, when I should already be doing the different thing in the first place…right?  I already work out, I probably don’t eat enough vegetables, and I feign smoking- never have, never will.  I rarely drink alcohol and I am not a recreational or habitual drug user.  I pay my bills on time, try to keep a clean house, and only resort to buying fast food for the kids once (okay- maybe three times) a week.  I don’t talk on my cell phone while driving, and I only get irritated at those who do, when the kids aren’t looking.  I try not to roll my eyes at people in the check stand who run back to get something they have forgotten, and I always remember to thank my Baristas.  I drink a lot of coffee, yet I feel that is a public service, because I’m not very happy, when I’m on decaf.  I attempt not to gossip, unless it is really juicy, or about Angelina Jolie, because that is a total given.  I spend 3/4 of my day taking care of my children, and 1/4 feeling guilty, for not being a better parent.

So in honor of the New Year, I plan to shake up the resolution bit, and create a personality that is completely opposite to the one that I currently possess.  Rather than decide what I should do to make the world a better place for 2009 (actually, just this blog), I am  developing a narcissistic-personality-complex, which holds the imperative question, “ask not, what you can do for your Country, but rather what your Country, can do for you.”  Because for the next 1,000+ words, it is going to be…all about me.

Resolutions, according to the Newly-Minted Narcissistic Miss…

Traffic: For the next 365 days I would prefer that all others avoid the paths which I plan to cross.  I would like my van to be like Moses, and the highways I travel to be the Red Sea.  I absolutely cannot wait for people to stay out of my way, and move to the shoulder of the road, when I am really in a hurry.  I would also appreciate it if drivers did not slow to a snail’s pace, when an accident is on the opposite side of the freeway.  No matter how interesting it is to gawk at, it is just annoying and rude.

Weather:  I am appealing to Mother Nature, that she start taking my needs into account.  Believe me, I do not oppose snow, ice, rain, or wind…I am rather, opposed to them, when they affect me.  That said, I plan to truly embrace the beautiful seventy degree weather that I would like to experience, in the coming months.  I would also appreciate if this jacketless, sunny weather was not humid, or too warm, in any way- and that the sun does not directly shine into any of my childrens’ eyes, while they are in the car.  Additionally, on days when I am happily jogging outside with my toddler, I would prefer a light breeze to float through the air, lest I begin to overheat.   

Medical Intervention:  I would really appreciate it if minds smarter than myself would engineer a vaccine which will combat the gluten-sensitivity, which I am currently afflicted with.  It could come in a capsule or a tablet, even a powder to stir in orange juice, would do.  I will even let the fabulous doctors treat me to a dinner at The Olive Garden.  They would pay, of course, because it is still, all about me.

A husband on the Home Front:  In the coming year, I would like for my husband to return home from Iraq, hand me a Spa Certificate, and promise not call me during my manicure, to ask what he should prepare the kids for lunch.  I would prefer this spa visit to be all-encompassing, and without monetary limitations.  Also, I will need a second gift certificate to pay for all of the products that I get talked into buying.  Additionally, I would like world peace, so that my husband doesn’t have to go to war anymore.  I would also appreciate it if insurgents would realize that instituting violence, in order to stop progress, is stupid. 

A plethora of responsible and capable nannies:  I would really love to have responsible people to watch my children-on a volunteer basis- so that I could get my haircut, work out for as long as I want, and possibly go watch a movie.  In addition, they can either do the grocery shopping for me, or watch the kids, so that I am able to peruse the aisles without a screaming toddler, hanging from the cart. 

A robot who looks exactly like me:  Wouldn’t it be great to be in two places at once, get everything done on time, and still be able to sit down and cuddle with your children?  I could feesibly do this if I had an automated robot who looks, acts, talks, and has the same mannerisms as myself.  Oh, the things I could do…just wait- when this happens, I will be unstoppable.  (If, in fact, this is possible- I will no longer need the nannies in the previously mentioned resolution.)

Toddlers with good manners, and who don’t  throw temper tantrums:  Lately, we’ve been dealing with Allison approaching the two-year-old-mark, and a lot of the toddler habits have come into play.  Now I personally have always thought three was the more difficult age, but we’re taking it one year at a time right now, actually one day- or one hour, to be precise.  We’ve seen our fair share of tantrums and the word “no” has really become a staple in our home.  Additionally, I get to spend several hours out of the day decifering what she wants.  This becomes tricky because the moment I figure out what she wants, she decides she doesn’t want it anymore, and that she wants something else entirely, but not really, just kind of, and if I figure that out, she really doesn’t want that either.  I think it is called ambivalence.  But really, she doesn’t want to be ambivalent, she just wants to keep me on my toes, or maybe she wants to be ambivalent, really she has no idea.  Yet, I can’t get too discouraged because our son, Peyton, was much more adept in the tantrum throwing arena.  Let’s just say Maddie and Ally are more on the lines of Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys, whereas, Peyton was Edward Norton in Primal Fear- Academy Award worthy, all the way…  Where I can diffuse Ally by saying, “Look a giant Elmo is walking down the street,” Peyton never forgot that he was angry, or why he was angry.  So, for my narcissistic resolution, I would like Ally to realize that I am, in fact, trying very hard to care for her; and that I am the best mom, in the entire world, and she should reward me for that by sleeping in her bed for the entire night, and making her and my breakfast.  

Well, this has been great…  And although I really don’t think I’d like myself much if I actually developed this attitude toward life, it is fun to imagine.  No, the world doesn’t revolve around me, although it really should.  Because for today, actually right now…it is all about me.