It was just a tiny cut.  No gushing blood.  No broken bones.  Just a little swelling on his nose and a trickle of blood from the tiniest cut.  To Daxson and me, it wasn’t a state of emergency.  But to Joseph it was an earth shattering event.  An event that would entitle him to storytelling rights and lots of pampering. 

I’ve learned that lots of the things we consider to be small things as adults are worthy of ceremony for little children.  Cuts, bumps, and bruises are a just one example.  The little things in their lives sometimes require some imagination on our part.  How can we turn a tiny cut into a momentous moment?  It’s all in our attitude.  Sure, we could tell them to brush it off and move on, but sometimes it’s not about the physical hurt as much as it is about the emotional hurt.  Their little souls need nurturing. 

So how did I handle the tiny cut?  I swooped him up and snuggled him and then brought him inside to begin the “ceremony” of fixing it.  I got out “the hurt basket” (taken from Katrina Kenison’s idea in Mitten Strings for God) and got to work.  I washed the cut and dried the cut, put some “medicine” (Neosporin) on it and dramatically covered it with a band-aid.  Joseph looked at himself in the mirror, satisfied and surprisingly, all better.  He hopped down off of that counter, proud to wear a badge of honor on his nose as he retold the story over and over throughout the day.  And me?  I lost maybe 5 minutes from my day as I fixed him up, but I gained respect in my son’s eyes as I taught him a lesson on the importance of taking care of one another.  Totally worth my 5 minutes, wouldn’t you say?

“Lest I ever lose perspective on what’s important, may the small details of daily life serve to remind me:  The sweetest memories are right here, in the moments we create and share with one another.”  Katrina Kenison in her book Mitten Strings for God.

It’s easy, especially the older we get, to lose sight of our idealistic, yet noble goals from our youth.  Amid all the bill paying, financial responsiblity of daily life, we lose sight of the fact that we’re called not just to work and provide, but to serve a higher purpose as well.  My dad sent me this link to a video put together by one of his freshmen students, Kayla Burch, and I was inspired!  I thought you might like a gentle reminder, too, of our purpose here. 

The sewing machine baffles me.  It takes me half a morning just to thread the bobbin.  Plus I find the sewing machine to be a bit of an inconvenience with children around…once I set it up, I’m pretty much glued to that spot (unless I want to lug the thing all around the house and outside with me).  But give me a needle and thread and I’m a happy crafter.  I simply put my craft supplies in a big ziploc baggie along with my needle and thread and I have a portable project.  Here’s a craft I recently made for the kids that was quick and easy.  You can find the directions and patterns at Family Fun Magazine.   

He’s so clingy lately.  If I’m even out of sight for a moment, it’s a complete meltdown.  He follows me from room to room, simply reminding me that he’s there by saying, “Mommy time.  I need mommy time.”  I stop often to pick him up.  I cuddle him.  I snuggle him.  I rock him and tote him from place to place.  I hold him as I make meals, do laundry, and clean up in the evening.   There is no concept of alone time for me right now.  I am defined by a tiny little 19 month old.  In the evenings, when he finally closes his eyes for a peaceful night of sleep, I breathe a guilty sigh of relief.  I can move around by myself for the moment being, however brief that moment may be.  I can get a glass of water without having to share it.  I can actually go to the bathroom, unaccompanied.  Daxson says I should stop picking him up.  He rationalizes that I just encourage clingy behavior by appeasing him.  I don’t agree.  I see clinginess as a phase (isn’t everything with children essentially just that?).  I see it as a moment in their little lives when something doesn’t feel just right.  Maybe life hasn’t been as consistent as usual or maybe they’ve been exploring a little more often and are retreating back to something a little more stable or maybe they just need a little extra love.  Who knows.  I doubt I’ll ever know exactly why my children have clingy phases…they can’t dig that deep into their little psyches.  But I do know that as with all phases, this will pass.  So in the meantime, I’m going to do what I do best.  I’m going to listen to intuition, the little voice inside my mommy heart.  I’m going to pick him up when he cries because if I don’t, my mommy heart aches knowing that he needs to be comforted and I’m not doing my part.  I’m going to grin and bear it (and offer it up) when he follows me into the bathroom for the fifth time that day.  I’m going to snuggle and cuddle and rock and tote because this is just a phase and I know I’ll be so sad when the phase passes and he no longer has time for some Mommy time.

One of my favorite things about kids is listening to their conversations, especially a conversation between two kids.  Here’s a recent favorite.  (Just a note: these are not typos…this is what the two of them said to one another, which is what makes their conversation so incredibly precious.) 

Gillian (two years older than Joseph) said to Joseph, “I can pick you up.”

Joseph replied, “Really?”

“Yeah, here.”  And she did.  Again and again and again.

Fast forward 45 minutes and we were now in the parking lot getting ready to leave.  Joseph politely asked, “Gillian, can you pick me up again?”

“Sure!”  She gently laid down her notebook and pen.  She grabbed a hold of Joseph and lifted him off the ground.  She took a tentative step with him in her arms.  Then another.  Then she bravely decided to twirl.  Down, down, down they both went, Joseph landing on top of her.  They burst into giggles. 

“That was on accident!”  Gillian exclaimed. 

Joseph continued to giggle.  “Will you pick me up again?  But I don’t want to fall this time!  Could you be careful not to fall me?” 

“I told you.  That was on accident.  Here I’ll pick you up again.”

“Okay, but promise not to fall me.”

You need to read this.  You probably will want to quit reading it half-way through because it’s a tale of sorrow and it will fill your mommy heart with a deep and heartwrenching sadness, but you’ve got to finish because the question Ann Voskamp offers at the end is essential to our journey in life.  And no, you can’t just skip to the end…to truly understand the question, you’ve got to read her entire story.  It’s probably going to hurt, but growing usually does.

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment.  A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.  If you’re inspired to do the same, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see. 

He was tucked in tight, covered by his bright, Downy infused blanket, literally bundled in prayers.  He held tight to his little “Marley” dog and gazed adoringly up at Dr. Nguyen.  I watched as they wheeled my sweet little baby back into surgery.  And I prayed.  Because sometimes that’s all you can do.    

An hour later, Dr. Bishop and Dr. Nguyen came to give us a full report of William’s surgery and success.   He peacefully went to sleep with the anesthesia and they were able to fully remove the cyst (the lab results are already back: totally benign).  He was in recovery, still sleeping and we’d be called in as soon as he began to wake up.  

Soon we were called back and the doors opened and I heard that sweet cry before I could see him.  “Meh, may!” he cried out when he saw me.  I hesitated, not knowing proper hospital protocol.  “Can I pick him up?” I anxiously asked the nurse.  “Of course,” she replied.  I untangled him from his IV tube and wrapped him in my arms.  Nothing so sweet as the smell of your own little baby.  “It stuck.  It stuck,” he repeated over and over again, referring to the IV stuck in his hand, held in place by a board that was wrapped tightly under his hand with gauze and tape.  He snuggled as close as he could as we walked through the hallways back to the Day Surgery unit.  

Grandma Nury and Grandpa Larry met up with us outside of Recovery and, as only 2 people were allowed to accompany William into Day Surgery, they were ready to part ways with us at the entrance, but William loudly protested.  “Noohree!  Noohree!”  he called out, referring to Nury.  I passed him over to Nury and he happily settled in her arms.  There is great comfort to be found in a grandma, I’ve learned.  

Once we were back in his individual room, he reached out for me and snuggled in tight as he prepared to nurse.  Soon his eyes became heavy and he drifted off to sleep, snuggled close against my chest.  Our world was right once again. 

So William’s surgery was successful, in more ways than one.  Obviously, physically it was a huge success.  But I think there was a spiritual side to this surgery, not so much for him as for me.  I learned that in the midst of our worries and anxiety the only place we can find great peace and comfort is in the Prince of Peace.  I’d forgotten that.  How grateful I am that I’ve been reminded.  

Grandma Cindy came to pick us up. Here he is, all ready to go home.

Peacefully sleeping the day after his surgery. Dr. Bishop removed the patch and aside from some swelling and bruising, his eye looks beautiful.

Right now…

…I wish it were next week or last week or any week but this week.  Tomorrow is William’s surgery. 

…I am praying.  I am praying for William.  I am praying for Dr. Bishop and Dr. Nguyen and asking the Lord to guide their hands.  I am praying for peace in my anxious, worried Mommy heart.

…I am so grateful that Mom is here.

…I am seeking balance.  Today I am teetering between grumpy and anxious and neither look good on me.

…I am wondering how Daxson always stays so calm.

…I am asking Our Blessed Mother to intercede on William’s behalf.  The Memorare is now commited to my memory. 

…I am asking you to please remember us in your prayers tomorrow.

…I am trying desperately to put tomorrow in God’s mighty and very capable hands, knowing that if I could just let go, my heart would be filled with peace.