It’s a lovely image, there, of twigs, used perhaps to form some sort of art, a wreath, maybe? If I were in the mood to dissect that sentence, I would say there are an awful lot of commas. I am split. I have thoughts going in many different directions, trying to stay calm.
My eight-year old has developed a twitch, inexplicably, over Thanksgiving. He has been to the doctor, who referred us to a Pediatric Neurologist, who asked for video of the twitch, so he could bring it with him to the Medical Hospital where he also teaches, to share with his colleagues and discuss.
It feels like we are doing everything we can, and everyone else is doing everything they can. Ben’s doctors and teachers are wonderful and truly care about him. I feel so lucky to be his mom and to be a part of his circle. Along with the professionals and calm, intelligent influences, I get to be the sparkling jingle bell that makes too much noise but is wildly enthusiastic about anything shiny.
And worry? I get to do that too. Tonight at dinner, a song came on the radio, “Let’s Go Fly a Kite,” from Mary Poppins to be specific. The boys and I ended up leaping and dancing around the kitchen trying to sing along with the really high voices in the chorus. I think when I’m stressed I sing louder and try harder to see joy and find a reason to laugh.
Today, there have been many hugs. From me to my children, because I cannot cherish them enough. And from people in my world who saw my eyes brimming over while speaking on the phone to doctors.
It’s too soon to know anything. It will be months before we actually get to see the neurologist. And so we are watching Christmas movies and having hot chocolate with marshmallows.
Ben and Bean were talking about their love tanks at dinner. Bean said his tank was from down at his shins to way up over his head to the ceiling. Ben said his love tank was comprised of our whole universe and the one next to ours, condensed to fit inside his chest.
Bean always wants to compete and one up; he chimed in that his love tank was ten universes compressed into his chest. Ben just looked at me and smiled. He’s okay with letting his little brother have the last word. He knows he said it first. He knows he was the one who got to me this time; my heart all blubbery and floundering around dizzy with love!
My art is my writing, reflecting, intentionally taking part in every juicy bit of life. I hope someday my children will look back and see that I did everything I could to parent as an art-form It is my job to treasure every moment.
I will admit to craving your good thoughts and prayers!
photo from here