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This past Sunday, my husband and I were the substitue teachers for the four year old Sunday school class. This is the class our youngest, The Queen of Sass, attends. The lesson was on the Passover meal and arrest of Christ the night before His crucifixtion. All of the kids were sitting with me on the floor and as I told the story, I came to the part about Judas.
“Then, one of Jesus’ friends decided to help the bad guys hurt Jesus!” I said.
The Queen of Sass did not like that one bit.
“When I get to Heaven,” she said with a snarl, “I’m gonna beat Judas up!”
That’s my girl, all fire and sass. I have no doubt that one day she will take on the injustices in the world. Until then, you guys pray for me, okay?
I am braiding hair and the kids are watching a nature show. Six year old Jeremiah is inspired.
“Mommy, I really want a fruit bat. Can I have a fruit bat, please?”
“No, Jeremiah. I don’t think we can have a fruit bat.”
“Awwww…….”
A moment later he has another idea.
“Mommy, can I have a baboon? I really want a baboon. They are so cute!”
“No, Jeremiah. You may not have a baboon.”
“Awwww…….”
“What about a mouse? Can I have a mouse, please?”
“Miah, why do you want a mouse? We already have a dog!”
Now, he turns on the tears.
“But I want a pet of my own!”
“I’m sorry, Miah, but I can not have even one more thing in this house I have to take care of and that is exactly what would happen. Meghan brought that crab home from school full of promises to take care of it and if I did not go in occasionally and squirt water in the bowl it would be dead.”
Which reminds me…
“Meghan, get up and go pooper scoop the crab house.”
He sulks for a moment and then picks up a book on animals to browse. Suddenly, he is excited.
“What about this!” he says. “Can I have one of these!”
He opens the page to a large photo of a Caracal, pointed ears upright and fangs bared. Claudine, who is having her hair braided, is horrified.
“Mommy, please say no,” she pleads. “Please say no!”
“No, Jeremiah. You can not have that cat.”
“Why not?” he whines.
“Why not? Why not? Because it has FANGS, Jeremiah. We live in the city. Zoning would not even allow that thing here.”
“Awww……”
He flips through the pages again for a moment and at last finds evidence he is sure will sway my opinion about the mouse he proposed a moment before. He holds up a two page spread of baby rats at varying ages of development in their nests.
“Look Mommy! You could have babies!!!! Don’t you want to have a mouse?”
“Miah, do you really think that is going to help convince me? Do you think I would be happy about having mouse babies?”
“Yeah!” he says.
“No, Miah. You may not have a mouse.”
“What about a snake, or a lizard?”
Then, Claudine has had enough.
“Miah, quit asking for wild stuff.”
Amen.
The phone rang. It was my sister.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Lately, I just feel like I have 50 kids instead of five.”
“Hmmmm….Five kids to the tenth power.”
Sometimes, that is just the way it is. It seems to me our family goes through seasons when we are just hit with one thing after another. My kids were back in school after their three week break for one day before illness after illness began to make the rounds.
Day after day I have been caring for sick children. Yesterday alone, one daughter came down with strep throat and my eldest son sustained a possible broken wrist in gym class. This morning when I approached the front desk of the pediatrician’s office, the sweet receptionist clunked down our 4″ thick file and said, “Who is it today, Mrs. Gragg?”
I was there yesterday too.
And the day before……..
I will probably be there tomorrow to have an x-ray of the wrist.
But this afternoon was one of those sweet, sweet lulls in the storm that makes me infinitely glad to be a mother of a house full of kids.
The four-year old Queen of Sass sauntered up to me, with all the seriousness an individual can invoke while wearing a Hello Kitty bike helmet with actual ears, to make an announcement.
“Mommy, I want you to take off my training wheels.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are you ready to fall? Everyone falls when they are learning to ride a bike.”
She thought for a moment. “No,” she said. Then, she walked away.
Five minutes later, she was back.
“Mommy, I am ready for you to take off my training wheels.”
“Are you ready to fall?”
“Yes. I am ready to fall.”
“Okay. Rule number one: Don’t be afraid to fall.”
I grabbed a wrench, flipped the bike on its handle bars and removed the training wheels under the watchful eyes of several kids. Then, I handed it to her and said, “Rule number two: Never stop peddling. The moment you stop, you will fall.”
“Okay,” she said. Then, she grabbed the bike and walked it to the back yard.
“Look at her go,” her oldest brother said, his voice full of wonder. “She looks like she has been doing that every day of her life.”
I took her to a slight incline in the back yard, gave a few last pointers, grabbed the seat and off we went. A moment later, I felt her gain her balance and I took my hand off the seat. To the shock of everyone, she peddled several feet before she fell. Cheers rang all around as she was congratulated and hugged by all her siblings. We tried again, and she doubled her distance before crashing to the ground. On the third time, she went further still.
Her siblings were full of encouragement and celebration, and baby girl…..well, she was absolutley radiant.
And I remembered so many things. I remembered changing her diarreha soaked clothing in Haiti again and again. I remembered trying so hard to be brave as I looked at her frail little body. I remember slipping a size 3 month onseie over my two-year old daughter’s head to find that it fit. I cried then.
I remembered bringing her home and the first time she cried when she was dirty. “She finally knows someone will come,” I thought. I remembered how for the longest time she could not walk across the floor without falling flat on her face. She could not climb the stairs, or jump, or stand on one foot.
Then, the tide began to turn. She fell less, then she ran. She began to climb the stairs…and lots of other things. She learned to pump a swing at age three. Last week, she turned a cartwheel for the first time.
And today…today my baby girl learned to ride her bike.
And I was reminded that sometimes, we have to just keep peddling to remain upright and that we have to be willing to fall before we can fly.
“So, why’d you do it?” he asked as he slowly slid the needle deeper and deeper into one of the muscles in my mid-back.
“Why did I do what?”
“Natural childbirth,” he responded. “Why did you do natural childbirth?”
“Oh,” I said as I endeavored to remain perfectly still. “Ironically, I don’t like needles. I was more afraid of the epidural needle than the childbirth. I always wondered, you know, what happens if you sneeze while they are putting in the needle?”
“Hmmmm.”
Then the needle reached the right spot.
“Ouch,” I said.
Immediately he stopped the descent and I felt him squeeze a little of the medicine into the knotted muscle, quickly remove the needle and move on to the next spot a few inches above the first.
“Okay, here is number two,” he said.
There was a sudden jab and then the needle descended again.
“You know what you are doing, right?” I asked.
“Well, more or less…” he responded.
This, I found hilarious. I wanted to laugh out loud but I just grinned. After all, I needed to remain very, very still.
Earlier, the nurse had swept into the room just long enough to make six tiny marks on my back and neck. All were on the right side of my spine, the lowest positioned just at mid-back, the highest right up at the base of my skull. The doctor was saving the top two for last because those muscles were the tightest. I had spent the week before vacillating between utter dread of the pain I knew would be partnered with those top two injections and outrageous hope that I would walk out of the doctor’s office afterwards a new woman. It did not take long to get over the fear of the potential pain involved with the procedure but tempering my expectations of the results was a more difficult battle. Finally, I told myself to get a grip; that it was some steroid shots, not The Second Coming.
Numbers three and four went by fairly easily. Five was a bit more difficult. Then, it was time for number six.
“This one will go in pretty close to the base of your skull. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
A quick, strong jab penetrated the muscle that was as hard as a rock. Then, the needle was on the move. This time, I made myself wait as long as I could before I gave him the signal to stop. This one, I desperately, desperately wanted to work. When I could stand it no longer, he began to administer the medication.
“Weird,” I said. “I can hear the medicine going into my neck. It sounds like it is in my head.”
“Yep,” he responded. “There is a lot of spongy tissue in that area.”
Then, we were done and I stood up to check out the results. Glory, hallelujah, I could move my neck all around!
I was giddy as I drove home. The best part was that I could look over my left shoulder to see if cars were coming when I was trying to pull out from somewhere. Now that is a fringe benefit, my friends.
A month later, I was back at the office. This time it was for a procedure on my lower back so, I found myself face down on an exam table with my bare derriere out for all the world to see. The doctor picked up his syringe and said good morning.
“You know what you are doing, right?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “More or less.”
Mothers of boys, I have finally listened to your cries for help. I have posted a new article at Braids, Beads, Truth on African hair care for boys. So, click the link below and give me your thoughts!
