Saved By the Son, Again

I may have misrepresented myself in a previous blog about my management of a busy schedule.  Given the fact that it was only the first week of a ‘mind-numbing’ schedule, I was still in possession of a sense of humor when I wrote about it.

Four weeks, and many mess-ups later, that sense of humor vanished and my brain exploded.  It was one of those days when you wake up feeling almost as tired as when you went to bed.  The insane busyness had finally caught up with me and stripped me of any reserve energy.

This particular day involved three trips between home and a town 30 or more minutes away.  I won’t bore you with a math problem, but let’s agree that it equaled a LOT of time in the car, especially for a Mom whose personal fuel tank is on empty.

So when I arrived at a sports field and found no one there, I snapped.   Immediately I knew it was my mistake.  Why wouldn’t it be?  Hadn’t I botched the schedule twice already this week?  I had shrugged off the first mistake, felt annoyed at the second, but came unglued on this, the third occassion.

Having a car full of children (not all my own), gave me pause.  I was actually proud of myself for pre-determining “Will anyone be scared if I start yelling?”  When they assured me that they wouldn’t be emotionally scarred, I unleashed a string of PG-rated curses against calendars and schedules, and no one in particular, that lasted longer than a few breaths.  Then came the tearless whimpering and stomping of fists on the steering wheel.  It was a full-on adult temper tantrum.  Like an irrational two year old, I couldn’t stop myself, until…

A hand reached across the front seat – the hand belonging to the same son who recently pulled me from the clutches of despair with his heartfelt sentiment.  This time, he employed quick wit to rescue me, and a car full of kids, from the Mommy breakdown that threatened to ruin the lot of us.

With feigned seriousness, my son began reciting Ricky Bobby’s irreverant dinner table grace.  “Dear little four pound baby Jesus….”  That’s all it took.  The entire car erupted into fits of laughter.  My son continued ad libbing a mock prayer sprinkled with requests that his ‘Mama regain her sanity.’

Though I’m not a fan of blasphemy, I felt that maybe even Heaven was laughing at the site of this car full of lunatics.  What an amazing remedy humor is!  Once again,  negativity was transformed by a sensitive, humorous, loving 13 year old boy.

The ride home was uproarious.  We opened the windows, blasted the tunes, and sang at the top of our lungs, effectively releasing all tension that had accumulated in the past month.

Despite the fact that I’d secretly like to claim dominion over my emotions, I openly admit that I can be as vulnerable as a small child when stress crosses my path.  But again, I recognize that where the vulnerability of an adult meets the love of a child, amazing things happen.  Children have a special brand of magic that imparts perspective on life.

So although I’ll do my best to remain in command of my faculties, I suspect I will forever be the colorful, emotional, unpredictable mother that my children enjoy saving.

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