#139 Crosswalk

Sometimes, children in large numbers complicate simple tasks—like crosswalks. As my mom and I were attempting to herd more than a dozen small children through a crosswalk, Jack somehow began to lag behind (this was not caused by large numbers, this is normal for Jack—the large number of children merely kept me from keeping pace with Jack to urge him forward). 

As Jack was about three paces behind me, I crossed paths with a man walking in the opposite direction—his speed was unusually fast (I can’t say for certain, but I attribute it to the high number of children, and a desire to leave them quickly behind). About one and a half seconds after he passed, I heard a thud, followed by the sound of Jack crying—a collision. As I turned to help Jack, the man was now to the other side. It was a hit-and-keep-speed-walking. 

Upon closer examination, I could tell the man had been wearing a watch—I would guess made of metal—and I would conclude that the band was woven—a fact not important, other than it had left a perfect imprint on Jack’s forehead, where blood was now collecting (I’m telling you, unusually fast). 

Confused at how this could have happened I asked Jack (of course, only after offering comfort, making sure he was okay, getting him safely out of the middle of the road, yada, yada), “Did you not see the man?” He replied that he had not. So I asked, “Were you looking down at the street?”

And then Jack said something that shed light on SO many of my dealings with him, “I was looking right at him. I just didn’t see him.” 

Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. You are looking right at me... 

#138 Observations.

Getting to observe the qualities and strengths of my children is one of the most rewarding aspects of motherhood. Hallie observes everything. If an item is lost in our house, we have only to ask Hallie. “In the basement, next to the buckets, under the purple dress that was  thrown on the floor,” she might say. And she would be right. (In fact, she did say, and she was right.)

Jack, on the other hand. 

As a four-year-old, he stepped outside one morning...

 “Mama, who put the mountains there?” He said,  gesturing to the beautiful snow-covered peaks that span the horizon and fill our view each time we open the front door. Assuming he was wondering how mountains came to be, I answered, “Jesus created them.” 

In an enthusiastically shocked tone he asked, “Last night??!”

Ope. Nope. He’d just never noticed them before. 

#137 Put My Little Shoes Away

It’s been too long since I’ve written. Many, many cute things have been said and forgotten. But, I begin again.

A song that has been handed down from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me, I now sing to my children. It’s Jack’s favorite. He requests it as often as as he requests a lullaby. It tells of a small boy who is dying, and he wishes for his mother to put his shoes away—saving them for his baby brother when he grows bigger.  It is sung from the boy’s perspective and some of the repeating lyrics are,  “Do this one thing for me, Mother; put my little shoes away.”

One night, after I had finished the song, Jack sat in silence a few moments. Then, sweetly he asked, “Mama, did that really happen?”

Assuming that most folk songs have been inspired by people’s real experiences, and hoping for the feeling to sink deep into Jack’s heart I said, “Yes. It did.”

He was quiet a few moments and very thoughtful. With the sincerity of a sweet five-year-old he said tenderly, “That’s sad.”

It worked; the sweet sentiment had touched him. He continued, “And weird that he would sing about it.”

Annnnd.... back to five-year-old-boy logic. Clearly, Jack was right. If the boy had actually sung his request, it would have been strange—I should have clarified. Jack, you are too lovable!