Kindness to the greatest and the least

Owen has been sick all week. It hasn’t been a nice sick either. You know nice sick right? The type where they’re ill enough to stay at home and sleep a lot and watch TV, but not sick enough to be throwing up or in real danger. Owen wasn’t in real danger, but he wasn’t docile either. He was CRANKY and HOT and WHINY and RESTLESS and CLINGY and SHRIEKY and did I mention CRANKY?

I haven’t had many moments to myself since Monday. He’s demanded “Mama!” a thousand times and seems the least CRANKY when he’s in my arms (although he’s certainly not content).

My mama’s heart hurt to see Owen upset and clearly not himself. But as the days wore on it began to ache more for James, who was repeatedly forced to entertain himself. Owen, in addition to demanding a grownup’s attention at all times, also found some kind of sick relief in smacking his big brother on the head, swiping his toys, and screaming “NO!” in his face repeatedly. It quickly became easier for James to shut himself in his room away from the insanity. Admittedly, this is something he does very well—to the extent that it would be tempting to think he was perfectly happy on his own. But I missed him and I missed our things together. And I suspected he felt similarly. 

Last night I put Owen down at 7:30 and offered to extend James’ bedtime if he could help me bake some cookies for our new neighbors. He eagerly agreed and pulled up his favorite green chair next to the counter. He weighed ingredients, opened butter, operated the mixer, and taste-tested the sugars and chocolate to make sure they were all safe. He chatted away as easily as I’ve ever seen while we worked together, wondering aloud about our new neighbors and if they would finally mow their yard and if he could have some “green milk” (1% comes in a green jug) and what our bedtime story would be and how much fun it was to splash around in the kiddie pool earlier and so on and so forth. I listened to the words tumble out of his mouth and delighted in connecting with my son.

And then he looked at me and said happily, “So. What’s going on in gy-nastics Mommy?”

When Roy and I go running we try to keep conversation going to help the miles tick off. I often ask him what’s new with the Bills to give him something fun to talk about and when he’s feeling particularly generous he asks me what’s new on the elite gymnastics scene. (Sometimes the run is hard and I just volunteer that information anyway. He’s always a good sport about it.)

So for my little four year old, who cares diddly squat about gymnastics, asked me what was new, my heart cracked and exploded and melted all at once. So desperate to connect with a parent, so sweet to think of something I would be excited about, so dear to cheerfully offer to watch it with me the next time it’s on.

The week has been very much about just holding on. I’ve sensed the four of us individually working very hard to maintain control and sanity in our unique ways. James showed me, in that little moment, that we’re better and happier when we are together.

We finished the cookie dough and read outside on the front stoop for another half hour before bedtime. When I opened the door Owen was crying for “Mama” again. James scooped up some stuffed animals to take to him, I scooped up the babe, and the three of us ended up on my bed. James stroked Owen’s hair and said in the softest sweetest voice, “Hey there little Owen. Why are you so sad? Do you just want to snuggle in bed?”

There are days--as I clean up the twentieth mess, when there have been more scrapes and bumps than smiles, when the word 'share' is a swear word--when I wonder if my children will ever be civilized human beings. And then there are days when I wonder where MY civility is when I see it modeled so perfectly by a child.

By the way, Owen is doing a lot better today, and both boys have been playing together for the first time all week. The house is slowly getting cleaned again and I found time to bake bread this morning. Normalcy is on the horizon and the hope of it is comforting. But my first real ray of sunshine all week came in the evening, and it came from James.