...foster an open and loving relationship with them,
teach them about Jesus,
model gratefulness, kindness, and respect on a daily basis,
help them understand their inherent worth as uniquely created people,
teach them to be strong and to use that strength for good,
show them the value of hard work,
(and a hundred other things)."
On the other hand, there is the most basic overshadowing hope:
Please, God, just keep them alive.
Maybe it's the season I am living right now, and maybe I need therapy. I don't walk around everyday paralyzed by the fear that my child might die, but I hear tragic stories everyday where my gut reaction is: "Yep, that could have been us."
A few months ago, the kids and I were staying at my parents' house while some work was being done at ours. Piper, Jon David, and I were under the weather with fevers, and it was resting time. Myla spends resting time in my parents' bedroom. As I was rocking in the recliner with a fussy JD, Myla started hollering, "Mommy! Mommy!" and crying from the bedroom. To be honest, I ignored her for a minute, because it resembled the kind of reaction she might have to seeing a bug (or some similar non-emergency). When she didn't stop, I went back to find her pinned from the waist down by an overturned chest of drawers. My risk-averse 5-year-old with no history of climbing just "wanted to see what it was like" to climb this new furniture. You guys, this thing was so heavy that I could only lift it for a few seconds while telling her to quickly pull her legs out from under it. It stayed flat on the floor until my dad came home from work. Once I checked her body for any visible trauma and realized she was ok, enter: the ugly cry. Because everything from that moment on felt like, "Well, you almost died today, so..." She had bruises down her leg and even on her forehead, but no serious injuries. A random plastic Ozarka container filled with coins that my dad keeps on his dresser seems to have held it up off the floor a few extra inches (i.e. the size of her legs). She wanted to watch tv, and my thought was, "Well, you almost died today, so I guess we can watch 3 hours of television right now." When she needed some correction later in the day, I thought, "Can I discipline her when she almost died today?" (Sidenote: I think the answer is "yes," but I tell ya, it really makes you think about the manner and tone in which you discipline in that moment. But still, ask the experts instead of going with me on this one).
Even more recently, we went to a pool party with some close friends. Every parent has their safety thing, and mine happens to be swimming. Despite this, the kids have never used Puddle Jumpers or life jackets on a regular basis, because I only do the pool thing when I have enough reinforcements to cover my crew. My girls are taking lessons but still not swimmers, but they have become pretty proficient holding a little ring floatie around their waist. While my sister was on Jon David detail in the pool (a full-time job), I sat on the side chatting with some moms and watching the girls. I was more nervous than usual because I know things can happen at parties where everyone is comfortable with each other. I was chatting with a friend (about Puddle Jumpers, no less) while Piper was kicking around and playing a ball game with her friend. I saw her lean over once to reach the ball, and thought it was a little bit too far of a reach, then I saw her reach again and tip over upside down with her feet wildly kicking in the air and her head underwater. I went in after her and came out, heart pounding and swim cover-up sopping wet. Dave was by the side as soon as I got her there. She was probably only under for a few seconds, and one of those nasty water coughs plus 5 minutes of resting had her asking to get back in. "It was just because I was weaning, Mom," she said. (Still working on pronouncing those L's). But you guys. The only reason I saw her tip over was because I happened to be watching at that very moment. Can I honestly say I was watching both my girls every single second? No, I can't.
I guess the art of motherhood is realizing how close to death your children always are without completely losing your ever-loving mind.
(Ask me in 20 years or so if I've accomplished this).
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