Don't count on doomsday

 

One day last week, I brought my kids and a couple of friends home from school.   I needed to drop off Molly, my oldest, with her little brother Harry and his two friends.  I had to run a quick errand with Emma to pick up her friend.  It was an easy to carry out plan, very straightforward.  Set up the homework on the kitchen table, everyone is in charge of themselves and hold off on any playing or eating until I returned in ten minutes.  Easy enough.

The kids happily deboarded the minivan, lugging along their backpacks and headed into the house.  Emma and I scooted off, and all was right with the world.  The sun was even shining brightly, and the sun roof was open.  It was one of those afternoons where things seem "just right."  It felt like everything was going according to plan, everyone seemed cheerful, and  I recall birds gaily chirping.  You get the scene.

And then, Pleasantville exploded with one little phone call.  No matter what you do or where you live, you've had those calls.  You know, the ones that let you know your plans have changed or the ones that let you know that folks are not doing what you wish they were doing or the day will not continue along in the same Zippity Do Dah way it was before the call.  I don't mean the calls of really bad news; I mean the inconvenient calls, those that aggravate us.  We all get them.  This was mine . . . it was a recorded message.

(read this with the voice of a very upset eight year old and sound like the entire world as we know it is falling in.  make it sound like you might actually be having a medical emergency and there is a chance that all of the other children in the house may have been crushed under a roof implosion.  read it with a frog in your throat and make it sound like you could be close to your second to last breath ever.  also read it like the entire world is working against you and that you may not be able to speak much longer.)


Mama, this is Harry.  I really think you should come home because it's just really not working out without you.  So, I mean you should come home quickly because everybody is kinda mixed up and Molly can't really handle it all so you need to come home soon because please so that Molly won't have to deal with all of this because everyone is just trying to let her speak to you, speak to her to ask her questions and I can't get Study Island to work and my paper is torn because of when I had my water bottle at school spilled when I had my bookbag, and so I mean, that's it because so please come home soon because I really want you to come soon and Molly can't figure it out. . . Oh, and this is Harry.


That was my call and I have written it here in its entirety.  Apparently after the urgent call, Harry wasn't even able to muster the strength to hang up the phone or maybe the friends had risen up in a coo and had taken over the entire house; so I couldn't get them back on the phone.  Things were bad.  That was clear.  Completely clear.

Ughhh.  The birds stopped singing, I stopped whistling, and I dreaded the return to the scene of the crime and destruction.  I gave up on the afternoon.  It was ruined.  I knew when I got back the four I had dropped off would be in tears, the house would be a mess, the dog would have eaten all of the homework and the children may have even eaten the dog.  The siblings would be fighting, there would probably be debris in the yard, and somehow I figured someone else would have entered the scene.  I don't know, someone like the Orkin man or something.

The moods of the whole lot of us would sour.  Yuck.  I can't remember what day it was, but I remember thinking that I had never liked that particular day of the week anyway.  Ugghhh again.  We picked up our new friend and headed back home.  I did my best to cover my aggravation, but in my heart I knew . . . I knew the whole afternoon was a mess now.

You know how that goes.  Everything is rolling right along, and then . . . boom!  One phone call or one conversation or one bit of financial news or traffic pile-up or misunderstanding changes the whole day.  You just kind of know it's a wash.  That was the deal.  We drove up, I dreaded getting out of the car and facing the natives and the dog was barking.

I braced myself and pushed open the door.  I slowly turned to peer into the kitchen, just hoping to see at least one child still able to walk on his own accord.  I prayed for the best.  I hoped for a miracle.

Guess what I saw?  Three kids sitting at the kitchen table, busily working on homework and one in the study on the computer.  Molly was helping one of our friends on his math and the dog settled back in her favorite spot on top of the couch.  Everything looked exactly like it had before I left.  Everything except for the bookbags and pencils and papers and textbooks.  There was a little bit of laughing, a hello or two to the new friend and that was pretty much it!

I was ready to fold in the whole day!  What!  I had already called it quits on a happy family night and then come home to THIS!  I asked Molly how things were, expecting that this question would lead to the impending destruction of the day - "Oh, everything is great!  I got the boys working on their Math, Harry had a little trouble signing onto the website but we got that worked out, we found one of the homework papers had gotten wet from a water bottle but we put it out flat on the table and it's almost dry.  Everything is great!  What did you get us for snack?"  I asked Harry how everything was, knowing that surely this question would explain my doomed mood. "Oh, everything is good.  We're almost finished with our homework, we just need to finish our spelling.  I tried to call you earlier but I couldn't get you, so I left you a message."

'YOU LEFT ME A MESSAGE' I thought.  YOU TOLD ME THE SKY WAS FALLING, AND I BELIEVED YOU!  A MESSAGE?  THAT WAS MORE AKIN TO THE LAST CALL IN A MOVIE BEFORE A BUILDING BLOWS UP!  A MESSAGE?

And, that was that.  Nothing was wrong.  No one was unhappy.  Everyone's homework was finished.  Friends were happy.  Snack was good.  The sun kept shining and the birds began again their singing.  I took my little buddy's message and decided that indeed it was all BAD.  I wrote off the rest of the day.  I took one little piece of crazy news and painted it all over everything before I even checked it out.  I let myself let go of a little piece of goodness just from that.

We could learn a couple of different things from this scenario.

1. My son has an overactive sense of the dramatic and apparently needs to 'get it out of his system' to feel better and move on.
2. Sometimes we too easily let go of the good and decide to let a tiny bit of bad cover our day or our week or our life.  

I already know the validity of No. 1.  He does have an overactive sense of the dramatic.  I don't think that's what I'll take from this afternoon, though. 

How often do we let this kind of thing happen?  Why is it so easy to 'sell out' when things are moving right along?  

It's raining cats and dogs outside today.  I have a lot of work I need to be doing.  Harry is home sick.  Things need to be straightened up quite a bit.  But guess what?  All is well.  Tim is off today and he just built a fire, I love writing a blog, Sadie is back up in her spot on the couch and everything is pretty darn great.  I think I'll be a bit more careful next time I ruin a good day with just one little bit of uggghhhhh.  Hope you will, too.

5 basketballs and guts

Yesterday I witnessed a marvel.  Really.  It wasn't so much the athletic feat that was marvelous but the guts.  As with many afternoons at our house, kids were inside and outside doing any manner of things.  We had actually had a 'homework check' and everyone was completely finished with all assignments - the big kids and the little kids.  That meant everyone was free to pursue the school day fun of their dreams (or the best they could come up with using the yard and the innards of the garage).  There was a strange, newly invented game on the side of the house that involved colored circles from a hop-scotch set and two lines of kids.  Emma seemed to be in charge of that and the small folks gathered 'round her seemed content with the set-up.  A few of the boys opted out of the two-lined circle game and headed to the basketball goal in the street.

Sometimes the basketball games are organized, using one ball for a modified 'two on two' or rousing game of 'H-O-R-S-E'.  Yesterday, though, each boy had his own basketball.  (You will notice that I will NOT be using the word 'ball' at any time in this post - I will consistently write out 'basketball' even though you all will know what kind of earth-shaped object I'm speaking of.  If you are the parent of a boy or know the parent of a boy, you will know why.  I have been trained never to say or write b-a-l-l, unless there is time for an hour long laughing session.  And the plural of the word is even better!  Saying those words, and others like them, is akin to giving a boy the best birthday present of his life and hearing the funniest joke ever, EVERY TIME.  I mean knee-slapping funny every time.  It's a strange phenomenon.  So, I will always identify spheres used for games and sports by their entire name.)  The guys were enjoying random shots with no particular rules.  Everyone was happy.  (I forgot to mention that there were 'pizza rolls' in the oven, which also brings about a joy not found naturally in children .  If you ever find yourself with a house full of children and no snack options, run to Dollar General.  You can purchase large bottles of "Lemon-Lime Flavored Soda" for 88 cents, they always have 'pizza rolls' and you can get in and out in a flash.  The children will be so excited about the 'pizza rolls' and the friends and the fact that you are buying soda in the middle of the week that they will not mind that their "Sprite" is "Clover Valley Lemon-Lime Flavored Soda.")  So, to recap, the boys were happy, and I know that I've just written a paragraph with most of the sentences in parentheses.  It seemed the right thing to do.

In the kitchen, hovering over the preparation of the healthy snacks, I was surprised by the door flying open with four screaming boys - "You've got to come see, you've got to come see and bring your camera!"  I ran for the camera and followed them out the door, delighted that I wasn't running out to break up a fight or wipe up blood from a collision.  "There," they said, as they all four pointed up at the goal.  It took me a minute to realize what the excitement was all about.  There were three basketballs stuck together in the net, as if all three of them had to make a basket at the same time.  I cheered, I clapped, I screamed for the others, and I took a couple of shots.  They guys were delighted and explained how it had happened.  Two of them had taken shots at the same time and both made the basket!  Then a third lightly tossed in another shot that landed atop the other two.  I realized from the volume of the voices that it was truly a miracle.

We had fun working to get the basketballs out and then I wandered back to the house, hollering something about them calling me when they got four basketballs in the basket.  "Okay," they simultaneously yelled.

I got back to the important work of vittles preparation for the hungry and forgot about the superb athleticism I had just witnessed.  Approximately 180 seconds went by and again the door flew open - they had four basketballs in the net!  Now we were in the big leagues!  Now we had the side yard athletes, too, and all of us marveled at the net.  We stared up into that beautiful, bright winter sun and proudly gazed at those basketballs all stuffed in the hoop.  It was impressive.  At this point, it was hard for the afternoon to improve.

But . . . alas, it did.  After we all squealed with delight and helped them to work the four basketballs out of the net, the boys explained that they were "going for five."  "All right, dudes, go for it," I said, heading back inside.  And, bless Pat and my two fifteen packs of 'pizza rolls', they did it!  They worked together to configure a way to get five basketballs in one net at one time.  I present the picture here for proof and for your viewing pleasure.  It really was a groovy day.

I've thought a lot about those boys and their basketballs and their determination and their guts.  I've thought a lot about how much I continue to learn from my kids.  I've thought a lot about how I might have confronted the same dare.  I'm afraid I probably would have laughed it off and said, "I can't do that."  I probably wouldn't have considered just trying it and I probably wouldn't have had the guts to just go for it, not worrying what the onlookers thought.  I would have missed the fun, the excitement and the miracle.  I imagine that most of my peers would react in the same way.  I wonder how many things we miss when we don't have the guts to try something, even if it's a crazy dream.  I wonder.

Since beginning this blog, I've had many folks tell me that they wanted to write a comment, but they were afraid they might say the wrong thing or say something silly or something that others might not agree with.  I understand that - I do.  I have the same fears most days when I put this little white Mac in my lap and start typing.  It's gutsy to put ourselves out there.  It takes guts to say or write or throw a basketball without regard for others' judgements.  It's easy for me to tell my friends to go ahead and comment or say what they'd like - it's no big deal.  But I know, and you know, that it's harder done than said.

Kids have a lot of guts, huh?  They have a spirit that tells them to go for it.  They don't have all of the experiences and fears and feelings that we have bagged up to tell them what might not work.  To children it's fine that it might not work.  It's fun trying.  It's fun going for it.  I admire that.  I admire their guts.

I pray my children and their friends will hold onto that.  I'm remembering all of the times that I've 'gone for it' - remembering what I learned or what I saw or what I did or how funny it was when it just didn't work.  I think yesterday was a good lesson for me,  that net full of five basketballs and those scruffy proud faces below it.