The Air Kiss

A couple of days ago, I decided to run some errands with Helen while Connor was at his piano lesson. Helen has a few friends having bday parties soon - and sometimes it's nice to go to the toy store a few miles from our home rather than the one up the street to get a little variety. We moved deftly through the shopping process and had a few more minutes to spare, so I decided to go to the music store a few minutes away to pick up a book of music I've been needing to grab for Connor.

The music store was a madhouse. Is it possible that every single elementary student deciding whether to rent or buy their instrument had coordinated with each other to hit the music store? It felt like it. I couldn't find the book, and then it took a while to hail someone who worked at the store to help me, and it took her a few minutes as well.

After saying no to roughly ten million music doodads (think pencils, stickers, buttons), we were finally out of the store, with book in hand. Helen trotted around to the passenger side of the car, and I decided to toss my purchase into the backseat.

I was moving too fast and flustered, I suppose, but somehow I managed to smash my finger in the door. It was far enough in that I had to open the car door with my other hand to free my trapped finger.

The pain was so intense, I thought I might black out. Helen heard me scream and came running to my aid - immediately pronouncing that she knew I had smashed something in the door from the terror in my voice. My finger was bleeding, I was holding back tears, Helen was asking if I needed ice, I was groping for the first aid kit hoping for a band aid. It was a mess.

And then Helen said "I'm so sorry - do you want me to give it a kiss? Well, maybe just an air kiss?"

It was so sweet, that I immediately thought of all those times when she was little and just needed a kiss to feel better and head on her way.

I guess the instinct to comfort sunk in - even if the kiss is not actually a physical healer. Indeed, an air kiss was just what I needed.

Elaine

Pocketknives

We took a family vacation that lasted 17 days. Our internet was junky or nonexistent, and I’m not particularly enamored with my job right now, so I just turned my work email off. I had warned people before I left that I wouldn’t be available – and I wasn’t. That’s rare for me, because long ago when I moved to part-time, I made a deal with my boss that I’d be available on my days off if an emergency arose. Even though I’m full-time now, that habit is a hard one to break.

In any case, on day 8 of the trip, the children acquired pocket knives. The little one spent a car ride asking, from the backseat, for things she could cut. I sat in the front, muttering to her father “it’s on you to take her to the clinic when she cuts herself “. It was a good example of why having parents willing to take different risks is nice for kids. I would’ve just said “no” to the pocketknife. And in fact, when I was approached, I could tell some negotiations had already taken place, and I made the quick decision to let Ed be the bad guy. I told her to ask her father.

That was a huge mistake. Because while I see almost no benefit to having the contraptions and plenty of risk, he sees dreams fulfilled. How powerful is a girl wielding a pocketknife?

So far…not powerful enough to injure herself, but that bar of soap that crossed her path is full of regret!

Teen in the House

I am the mother of a teen. That’s the kind of news that starts to sink in a few days before it actually happens, and then continues a few weeks after that. It’s not that I either want or expect my children to stay eternally young. I like all of the stages we’ve traversed together, and I look forward to more.

But when you have a teen in the house, there is just no way to deny that time is moving forward. Quickly.

We’re on vacation in Jackson, Wyoming, and while Ed and Connor make their way through a ropes course together, I have opted to play the role of chaperone to Helen. She’s too young- or more likely-too small to be with them. She’s stuck on a smaller course. It kills her. I know.

And this is somewhat ironic, since just a few hours earlier we went hiking to a rock that our travel book declared made a great place to jump into the lake – at least 25 feet below. Helen was the first to take the leap, and Connor only followed to save his pride.

Regardless, as I look up at Helen, it hits me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

Parenting from here on out involves a lot of trust. Trust that the world will provide a safe place to tether to, and trust that your child will find those places and tether on.

It’s a series of moments when I realize that my heart is doomed to dangle dangerously outside my body, and the best thing to do is let that happen.

And even when I’m not sure what the ending will be, the story must be written in someone else’s handwriting.

Elaine