Sometimes Life Is Like That . . . It's Just Pants

Monster Queen was refusing to wear her glasses in the car on the way to school today. Big brother was trying to convince her that wearing them was the right thing to do. The explanation went like this:

“This is how life is sometimes . . . it’s like it’s your birthday, and you get this cool package. It is just the shape of the toy you want, and you are really excited to open it. When you tear the paper off, though, it’s just pants. Sometimes life is like that . . . it’s just pants and you have to pretend you like it.”

Everything I Need

When my tire is flat, I’m sitting in the dentist’s chair, waiting in line at the DMV, or cleaning up after sick kids; I will remember today and smile. I don’t know if it was perfect, but it was everything I wanted.

The day started with an egg/scavenger hunt put together by teenage daughter (aka Easter Bunny). Little Monster chased Big Brother and Monster Queen through the house in delight on his hands and knees. Monster Queen created chalk art on the sidewalk, and Big Brother taught her to play a game.

Teenage daughter spent the morning helping me cook (without being asked). Mr. W worked the horses. Grandpa joined us for lunch, and we all enjoyed one another.

Ana, William, and I took a long walk in the sun. Later, Riley, Ana, and I played catch.

An entire day to celebrate the Resurrection. An entire day of peace and calm. Perfect? I don’t know, but I do know it was everything I need.

My Parents

I was seven years old. We lived on a farm in southeast Kansas. I had two pairs of jeans, one pair of sneakers, and one pair of church shoes. We had chickens and hogs, so we ate eggs and pork. When the wind blew, the curtains flew in our house. The upstairs was sealed off in the winter; we bathed in sweat in the summer. Tin can lids sealed the holes the mice made by mice. At times, the plumbing broke down and we used the outhouse and outdoor cistern. We were poor, but I was unaware. I was a child, and I was adored.

There was never a girl luckier than I. Both my parents doted on my sister and I. Dinner was served every night at the table after we prayed. Mom and dad read to my sister and I, tucked us in, and said prayers every night. We played cards and games on Friday nights and went to church on Sunday mornings. When I did wrong, I was punished. When I did right, I was celebrated. I was loved.

It was an understatement to say money was tight. Money was nonexistent. At seven, I did not comprehend this. I had stars in my eyes and a burning desire. I wanted to play softball. I asked my parents if I could join the team. Neither of them either told me it was a sacrifice, but I know, now, that it had to be. Mom and dad made it happen. One day, dad came home from his day job (carpentry) to his night job (farming and raising hogs) with a ball glove. Not any glove, this was a beauty. Pure leather, cow smell, and mine . . . all mine. My toys fit in a Guys potato chip box. I could count my books on my fingers. Most of my clothes were made by mom. I can not express the shock and pleasure that came with this present. It wasn’t my birthday or Christmas, but here was a treasure for ME. I still feel a rush as I relish the memory.

This was just the beginning. My parents nurtured my love affair with softball until I was ready to let it go. Both mom and dad played catch with my sister and I evening after evening. Both worked, cared for animals, and farmed. All meals were cooked a home. Convenience foods were not a part of our lives. Clothes were sewn, the house was a constant battle . . . each day was work; but, they made time for us. My parents played with me. Taught me to catch, throw, and bat. Took me to games. Cheered me on.

Of course, they did this because I was talented and destined to receive awards and scholarships . . . WRONG!!!!!! I stunk. Few children had less athletic talent than I. I was disciplined, dedicated,and I loved the game; but, it was hard for me. Softball was a struggle. My time on the bench exceeded my time on the field by far. My parents’ devotion would have been justified if they were sitting in the stands watching a prodigy, but they weren’t. They cheered, supported, and celebrated just because they loved me. I can not express my love and gratitude. Everything good that I am, all I have or will accomplish, and any contribution I will make is a result of my parents.

Compassion

My youngest daughter is clever, kind, loving, brave, creative, hilarious; and, she has heart disease. Right or wrong, I would love to remove this burden for her; but, that’s not our reality. The reality is that while this disease has created it’s share of pain, it has provided many, many wonderful experiences for us as well.

Her most recent procedure was earlier this month. It was minor (not open-heart), but it was the first she has had in over a year. My dolly had forgotten many of the discomforts of surgery, and she was not prepared. The insertion of the IV, waking up sore and confused, and spending a day without being able to sit up were unusual experiences for a little girl. This could be devastating. Thanks to a wonderful hospital with amazing staff and incredible volunteers; they were not. She received exceptional care. Nurses soothed and smiled. A volunteer visited with a therapy dog. Care partners brought movies and activities. The doctors were honestshemy girl talked on and on about the toy room, the chocolate ice cream she was served, and how she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. I am so grateful that she wants to emulate, not fear, doctors. How wonderful that she has fond memories of her hospital experience.

While the professionals cared for my girl, my parents took care of me. Multiple surgeries have been a part of our lives. Mom and dad have been present for every one. Because they are retired? Nope, both work full time. Because I asked them to? Not at all, I would not have burdened them. Because I am an only child? Hardly! There are seven of us. My parents make family THE priority. They are two of the least selfish people I have ever known. I am humbled by their selflessness.

There’s more. The calls and messages I received from family and friends are countless. Throughout our many hospital stays, we have been showered with love and support. Her friends have sent handmade artwork. My friends and students have called, prayed, messaged, sent gifts, mowed my lawn, cared for my children, completed my shopping, visited, donated, and loved us. We are never alone.

Pope John XXIII stated, “If God created shadows it was to better emphasize the light.” The light in my life outshines the shadows. I do not welcome life’s pain, but I embrace the love and support that comes as a result. I am overwhelmed with compassion and love . . . I am blessed.