I'm lounging by the neighborhood pool, and I notice a group of teenage boys wildly attacking one another, throwing one another into the water, and performing ever-increasing feats of manliness for all to see. I'm worried someone will get hurt, especially the young children trying to swim.
One mother gets up from her seat and positions herself directly in their path. She sits down, dips her feet in the pool, and reclines as water, sweat, and testosterone fall like grenades around her peaceful form.
"What are you doing?" I ask and join her while shielding my face from the onslaught of water and muscles. I know this mother has a teenage son, so I'm curious about her behavior.
"I'm putting myself in the way."
She's stationed herself between the teenagers and the young children. She whispers to me that one of her best parenting strategies is to "be in the way." Sure enough, those boys redirect their energy away from the young children trying to swim.
"Just be in the way," she says.
I nod my head and think of all the times I have already been "in the way" of family members, students, and neighbors. Something about getting right in the middle of somebody's business--being obviously in the way--could help avert harm. And I'm so thankful for all the mothers, teachers, pastors, and friends who stood in my way when I went about my own disastrous plans. "Get out of my way!" I'd think. "You're ruining my plan!"
Well, those folks who were in my way saved my life.
I love this pool mother's attitude. That tiny little woman got right in the mix with a dozen sweaty teens. She was in the way. And that's what mothers do.
_________________
Journal: Do you need to get in somebody's way today?
Showing posts with label mothers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mothers. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sound the Alarm!
Apparently, word spread that I wasn't in church yesterday.
"What did you tell people?" I asked my husband. I was in bed, still in my pajamas, destined for the flu.
"That you were tired, really stressed-out, and probably getting sick," he said. Meanwhile, he collected the children to take them to an afternoon movie so I could sleep in a quiet house.
Then, my oldest approached me with her fist holding a crumpled up dollar bill.
"What's this?" I asked her.
"It's my tooth fairy money from my piggy bank," she said, very seriously as she put it slowly beside me. "I want you to have it in case you need to go to Starbucks later."
I had husband love, daughter love, and then, and then, some completely unexpected neighbor love.
At 5:30, neighbors came over with dinner. This amazing family brought me teriyaki pork tenderloin, fruit salad, green beans, rolls, potatoes, and ice cream for dessert. I hadn't been in the hospital or anything. I didn't even have a fever. They just heard I was tired and maybe getting sick.
Then, this morning, another neighbor handed me a pack of those mocha frappuccino drinks to sustain me while working today.
"How did she know I love those?" I asked my husband.
"It was either that or a bag of beef jerky. You're sort of easy to please."
It isn't like I'm on my death bed. I was just really, really tired from a long semester. I sounded the alarm on Sunday morning, and the family and neighbors mobilized immediately. I know what happens when a mom takes a day off. All of a sudden, the whole operation jams up. There's a clog in the wheel; everything overflows. She feels guilty and lazy because, after all, she's still breathing and can therefore empty the dishwasher.
But I had to do it. Living with flair means sounding the alarm if I have to. It means receiving from a community. I want to be strong enough to stay in bed and strong enough to accept help. And today, because I know what it feels like to be loved with a meal, coffee, and a quiet house, I know just what to do if I hear that somebody else is tired and stressed out.
My neighbors have flair. Bringing unexpected dinner and iced mocha frappuccino drinks to a tired woman is a beautiful, and so appreciated, form of flair. Community flair--that's what helped me get out of bed today.
"What did you tell people?" I asked my husband. I was in bed, still in my pajamas, destined for the flu.
"That you were tired, really stressed-out, and probably getting sick," he said. Meanwhile, he collected the children to take them to an afternoon movie so I could sleep in a quiet house.
Then, my oldest approached me with her fist holding a crumpled up dollar bill.
"What's this?" I asked her.
"It's my tooth fairy money from my piggy bank," she said, very seriously as she put it slowly beside me. "I want you to have it in case you need to go to Starbucks later."
I had husband love, daughter love, and then, and then, some completely unexpected neighbor love.
At 5:30, neighbors came over with dinner. This amazing family brought me teriyaki pork tenderloin, fruit salad, green beans, rolls, potatoes, and ice cream for dessert. I hadn't been in the hospital or anything. I didn't even have a fever. They just heard I was tired and maybe getting sick.
Then, this morning, another neighbor handed me a pack of those mocha frappuccino drinks to sustain me while working today.
"How did she know I love those?" I asked my husband.
"It was either that or a bag of beef jerky. You're sort of easy to please."
It isn't like I'm on my death bed. I was just really, really tired from a long semester. I sounded the alarm on Sunday morning, and the family and neighbors mobilized immediately. I know what happens when a mom takes a day off. All of a sudden, the whole operation jams up. There's a clog in the wheel; everything overflows. She feels guilty and lazy because, after all, she's still breathing and can therefore empty the dishwasher.
But I had to do it. Living with flair means sounding the alarm if I have to. It means receiving from a community. I want to be strong enough to stay in bed and strong enough to accept help. And today, because I know what it feels like to be loved with a meal, coffee, and a quiet house, I know just what to do if I hear that somebody else is tired and stressed out.
My neighbors have flair. Bringing unexpected dinner and iced mocha frappuccino drinks to a tired woman is a beautiful, and so appreciated, form of flair. Community flair--that's what helped me get out of bed today.
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