Phone Call

We got a phone call Saturday afternoon from the Ski Patrol of a nearby ski resort.


Our oldest son had gone snowboarding with two of his buddies for the day.   On the last run he caught an edge and wiped out,  hitting his head and knocking himself out momentarily.

His friends weren’t with him at the moment; they were waiting for him at the bottom.  It had been a great day, all of them working on cool tricks and techniques.

A couple of people noticed him laying face down in the snow.  They stopped to help, rousing him, asking him questions and determining that he was pretty scrambled (unable to remember his name, etc.).  They got him up and helped him down the mountain and to the Ski Patrol, who called us.

The diagnosis:  a concussion.

Worried as we were, I had to laugh.  Naturally.  Naturally he would do something like this.

He’s still wearing is wrist brace to protect the wrist he broke four days before Christmas.  It’s been nine months since his surgery .  You could say that he’s had quite a year, but it wouldn’t be true.  He’s always been like this.  More than 90% of our emergencies involve him.  I used to wonder when it would slow down or even end, but that was foolish.

He is who he is.  Rough water is what he swims in.   It’s just his style.  My job is to worry less, trust more, breathe instead of holding my breath.

Some of us experience the Lord’s protection by avoiding most accidents, injuries, etc.   Others experience the Lord’s protection by sustaining injury but averting disaster.  His life plan seems to be the latter.

We spent Saturday night waking him up periodically to ask questions, getting scrambled answers, looking at each other in the dark, wondering if it was sleep or the concussion, wondering if he needed further medical attention.  The body that looks so enormous to me lately didn’t look as big all curled up on the couch trying to make sense of the simple question, “What is your name?”

True to form, by Sunday night it was apparent that although he had a massive headache, he was himself.  No serious damage.  Once more, injury but not disaster.

And we are thankful.  Thankful he was wearing a helmet.  Thankful for two strangers whom we’ll never get to thank for stopping on a cold mountain to check on a motionless body.  Thankful for two friends who sat with him until their ride home arrived.  Thankful for Ski Patrol personnel who watched him until he left.  Thankful for a friend’s mother who drove him home.  Thankful for a doctor who answered his phone on a Saturday night to give us further instruction.  Thankful for a God who heard our prayers and protected him.  Thankful to a God who is healing him.

Thankful for a son who is introducing me to a life approach that I would have been perfectly content NOT to experience.  Thankful for the treasure trove of stories he’s collecting to tell his children someday(far more exciting than mine, I’m sure).    Thankful that he’s stretching us, even if sometimes the stretching leaves gaping holes.  Thankful for the greatness of his heart and depth of his feeling, even when it is communicated poorly.  Thankful for all the learning that raising your first teenager brings.  Thankful that he puts up with us rookies.

And you move on to the next adventure.
Life is good.

Hopeful Homemaker

My View

There is a direct correlation between healthy babies and a smoothly running household.  If the baby is sick, the household doesn’t run properly.  I’m grateful as can be for a now healthy little one, and a household that is slowly coming to order once more.

I must pause, however, (now that I’ve had some sleep and my head is clear) and note that there is something wonderful about sick babies.  It’s that they need you so much.  They need you to hold them, snuggle them, carry them everywhere.  They can’t get enough of you, neither can they seem to get high enough on you.  (Have you noticed how they just climb higher and higher when they’re not feeling well, until they’re almost perched on your shoulders and head like an eagle?)  They need to be all over you, in your face, until they’re the only thing you can see.

They need to fill your view.


I’ve spent weeks holding a crusty-nosed 17 month old who wanted me to do nothing but make her feel better.   We spent countless minutes together with her perching on me in various positions, trying to find relief.

And as much as I hated it, I also loved it.


My three year old also spent a few days like this.  It’s definitely tougher when two of them are warring for your everything.  Still,  it’s a priceless opportunity to have them want you, to be the one they think can fix it.

Yes, they wipe boogers all over you and cry and arch their backs and thrash around.


Yet it also means they’re close enough for you to study them, to drink them in.  Close enough to contemplate their sweet little hands, close enough to look deeply in their eyes, close enough to marvel at their eyelashes and relish the chubby sweetness of their smell.  When they’re healthy, they don’t want to sit still long enough for you to wonder at these things; they’ve got a world to explore.  When they’re healthy they’re off on adventure.  When they’re sick YOU are home.

If you think about it, changing clothes several times a day is a small price to pay for this privilege.  In fact, all the mundane things we do are small in exchange.   It’s an honor to be a mother, even a mother who hasn’t had any sleep and who can’t remember the last time her shirt was clean twenty minutes after her shower.

Forget the clean clothes (but maybe not the sleep).  I’ll take the view.


Precious.

Hopeful Homemaker

Science Fair

I have a lot of feelings about the Science Fair.  The only one that isn’t negative is the feeling of relief that comes when the project is completed, out of my house, and done with.


I’m proud of my daughter for getting it done and having a little fun in the process.  Their question:  Which creates more life in cookies, baking soda or baking powder?


Six hours of baking later, they concluded that baking soda consistently produced cookies that were bigger.  Not only did they rise higher, they also spread more than baking powder.  It was fun to watch them conduct the experiment and put the project together.


In fact, it’s generally just a lot of fun to have a twelve year old daughter.  She’s awesome in every way.  Well done girls!

HH

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