Writing Myself Out of a Bad Mood

(Olive holding my leg brace for my strained/torn MCL)

A week into my six-week stint with a leg brace and I'm painfully aware of how much I rely on not just moving, but moving quickly to respond to my world.

As both a Mom and an Elementary School Counselor, I tend to run, bend, twist, carry, reach and stretch in all six directions.

I am usually outside at recess with the kids every day, playing soccer and mediating conflicts that occur on the playground. I walk the halls of our school looking for kids, instead of sitting in my office waiting for them to arrive.

I am not good at being still.

And yet, as I wrote earlier, I know there are lessons here. I can't always rely on the physicality of my body. Contact sports can't relieve my stress forever. I need some ways to unload that don't involve movement.

This past week, my mood matched my strained knee, limping along, stutter steps instead of easy smiles.

Even now, as I write, I feel a heaviness that comes with a lack of fresh air and exercise. A tired feeling of inertia, as if the air around me grows heavier with time.

But really, in the grand scheme of things, this is small, a mere blip compared to the storms that wreak havoc on lives.

I am the fortunate one.

Secure in my home, my children alive and playing.

Last night, friends gathered here for an early Thanksgiving feast. We ate smoked turkey and ham, pearled onions and green beans, raspberry crisp and pumpkin pie.

Olive led a parade of girls through the house, wearing her butterfly mask and a too-big dress that exposed her bare chest, chanting, "Cheer everybody! Cheer everybody!"

Elias chased after the boys as they ran from an imaginary ghost, smiling and laughing and keeping up without his canes. He almost seemed like just one of the gang.

He came to me a couple times, as I sat on our kitchen bench to say: "The girls won't listen to me when I asked them to get out of my room." Or: "Owen found the green radio before I did and I really want to use it."

He used his words to express his frustration.

"How bout you just sit next to me for a bit and be an honorary grown-up," I responded, and he smiled and boosted himself up, our hips touching, his arms waving the way he does when excited. 

Problem solved. Just like that. No pushing or pulling hair. No scream from the bedroom for me to hobble towards. Just words and a small diversion.

My boy might be growing up.

Playing with kids without Nick or I needing to be right there: This is new.  I don't know how many parties we've attended where one of us has ended up in the kids' room for most of the night. Leaving without ever really talking to another adult for more than Hello.

And here we were, relaxing in our own kitchen, finishing conversations, watching as both Olive and Elias played well with their friends.

I went to check on Elias before dinner and found him in his bed with three other boys, their heads all pushed together, as they took turns playing games on Alden's ipod. Elias sat waiting for his turn, instead of grabbing the device from the other boys' hands. Progress indeed.

Later, all the kids marched through the house as one giant train, no two cars the same, each child a minor miracle of cells dividing into spirits all their own.

Cheer everybody! Cheer everybody! Cheer everybody!

I suppose that chant includes me. So, I'm a bit of a gimp, moving awfully slow, don't need to be a grump too.

Cheers everybody.

Comments

[Shelley]

I see my eight year old making better choices too. I think he is maturing some. I'm feeling both grateful and a little sad, you know?

[Liz]

That? Is amazing and wonderful to read!!!

[danielle]

Fantastic news, save it up for the days when he is a grump and a grouch--and remember that is part of being a kid,too. So glad to hear you are seeing such progress!!

[Christy]

Thanks all. And yes Shelley, there is a little bit of sadness mixed in there when I see my little boy growing up.