Be the Help

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.  I hate seeing the horrific images.  I hate ignoring them. I hate feeling uninformed.  I hate reading about it.  I hate that this happened.  Again.  I hate living in a world where people shoot children, fly planes into buildings, and blow up runners and spectators.  I hate not knowing how to handle it or how to respond.  I hate feeling so completely and utterly useless.  I hate not knowing how to walk through this as a mommy.  I don’t want to expose my son to horrors, nor do I want him to not understand the world around him.  (Not that I think this is comprehendible for any age.)  I want to shield and protect him from all evil.  But that’s not realistic either.  How do I raise him to know what's happening but not be afraid?  What’s the appropriate response?  What do I say when he asks why Mommy is crying?

I don’t know much.  But I have repeatedly seen on Facebook a quote attributed to Fred “Mr.” Rogers - "Look for the helpers."  I like that.  I like the thought of looking to see who’s running towards a catastrophe instead of just away from it.   That inspires me to take it a step further.  BE the helpers.  Maybe there isn’t a disaster in my town today. 

But maybe today I can pack an extra apple and banana for the person I’ll inevitably see at the interstate exit.  Maybe I can take time to have a conversation and make eye contact with the person who seems lonely or has a hard time functioning socially.  Maybe I can give a warm hug or touch the hand of someone who might not get a lot of physical contact.  They may seem like small trivial things.  But if I can help show kindness and humanity to one other person; if I can be an example of goodness in a world gone mad for my son; if I can reach another person in love for my own sake, then in that moment, good still wins.  I am the helper.  We are all the helpers.  We have the power to show that love, even love for strangers, triumphs over evil every time.  And if, God forbid, I ever face terror close-up, I hope I am a helper.

We cannot bring back the lives or limbs lost yesterday.  We cannot restore children and teachers back to their now incomplete families.  We cannot undo how the world changed 11 ½ years ago.  But we can be helpers.  We can show one another, and our children, how to love.  We can be more than survivors, more than victims.  We can show compassion.  We can restore hope and humanity to everyday life.  Be the help in your world.

When my son reads in his history books the events of 9/11, the acts of terror, the atrocities that befall our modern world, I hope he asks me where I was, what I thought, what I felt, and what I did.  I will tell him - I was scared; I was saddened; I was angry; I was heartbroken; I was determined; and I decided to change the world for the better.  I chose to be the help.

Worst day at work since I started this job!

Almost three years ago, I switched jobs.  I left the corporate world for the home world.  I used to have a paycheck, bosses, coworkers, a cafeteria, and a timeclock to punch in and out.  Now, I have a son, no pay, no one to cook for me, and no clocking out.  Today was the hardest day I've had since I took this job.  I don't regret the job.  I don't even regret the decision to leave Corporate America.  But boy, oh boy!

It started with breakfast.  He ate a few good bites of the bowl of cereal we always share.  On the fourth bite, he decided to spit it out.  For no (understandably good) reason.  Then he asked for a slice of cheese.  I gave it to him.  He took a tiny nibble, pulled at it until it began to crumble all over the carpet, then wadded it up and threw it in the sink.  Frustrating?  You betcha!  But I didn't force the issue of him eating.  If he gets hungry enough, he'll eat.

So we went to the gym, as usual.  He was fine with going to the gym.  About 20-30 minutes into my workout, they come get me to tell me he has a dirty diaper.  (They don't change diapers, which is fine.)  I was surprised, since he never has a dirty diaper at the gym (and he'd already made one this morning.)  But I went to get him & change him.  Everything seemed fine.  And then it wasn't.  He started (aggressively) telling me he wanted to go swimming.  I told him we couldn't today.  I didn't bring our swim stuff.  Maybe tomorrow.  He starts crying and screaming in the locker room.  I'm trying to calm him down.  I'm trying to reason with him.  I'm doing everything I've read in the "how to raise your kid" books.  I'm asking him to stop crying and try to use his words to tell me what's wrong.  He doesn't.  I give him choices so he has control in his life.  I offer him to go back and play or go home.  I tell him either decision is fine.  Neither is a punishment.  He's not in trouble.  What does he want to do.  "I WANT TO SWIM!" And the tantrum escalates.

I again offer him choices.  I tell him if he does not want to play, we'll go home and that's ok.  He finally decides to go back and play.  Until we get halfway there.  Then he throws himself down on the floor in the middle of the corridor and starts crying again.  To say I was embarrassed would be a gross understatement.  I know most of the people were probably feeling bad for me instead of judging me as a failed parent.  But I was so frustrated!  So we head back to the locker room to get my things to go home.  Then we go over to the play section so I can get his coat & our cards.  Again, he flings himself on the floor in a tantrum.  I walk away (still keeping both eyes on him,) thinking if I take away all attention (positive or negative) that he might snap himself out of his tantrum without an audience.  Instead, he lies there for another moment, then gets himself up, walks to where I am, and proceeds to get back on the floor and continue the fit! 

I was ready to string him up by his toenails!  I get his coat on (while he's crying,) take his hand, and lead him outside to the car.  All the while, he's racked with uncontrollable sobs (allegedly.)  I put him in his carseat, he immediately stops crying, wipes his face, and yells, "I want milk, Momma!"  Now, he knows how to use please and thank-you and generally does an excellent job with them.  So this kind of demanding attitude is not typical.  Nor was it acceptable.  By this time, I was furious with him!  We get home and he acts like everything is perfectly fine.  I get him fed.  I get him down for a nap.  The whole time he's asleep, I'm trying really hard to get un-pissed at my two-year-old.  But I didn't know how! 

I managed to be relatively calm with him post-nap.  And somehow, I managed to not spank him.  (I believe in spankings when necessary.  And I think today would have been very necessary.  But I have also promised myself, him, and my husband that I would try really hard to never spank in anger.  I would have spanked in anger today...)  The afternoon did not do much to improve his demanding, jerky, or bratty behavior.  But luckily, my husband came home.  (I thought he was going to have to work late.)  About ten minutes after he got home, my sweet husband said, "Why don't you go to a coffeehouse for a little while and take some time for yourself?"  I didn't argue.  I think I was out the door with a book within two minutes of the offer.  When I came home, my hubby said our darling boy continued his contrary behavior but went to bed easily and early. 

I can only hope there was some unseen reason for his crummy behavior that will not repeat tomorrow.  I rest in knowing that a good night's sleep can (potentially) refresh both my son and me.  And even if it doesn't, I took a job I can't quit.  So I'll find a way to suck it up.  But today was truly the lousiest, least-enjoyable day of motherhood thus far...

But I still wouldn't give it up...