The Ghosts of "I Will Never"

When I was younger than I am now,

When I dressed in finer fabrics on a daily basis than I currently do,

When my focus was directed down my nose more frequently at the present,

had you been a neuron in my brain, it would have not been uncommon to hear

these words:

"I will never..."

This sentiment was readily available to slap onto any sight or situation I was quite certain would never be one I would be caught in. Not with my fine upbringing, class and common sense. This quick-drawl judgement was most often brought out for children and parents of children. It was often punctuated with a haughty little sigh and prayer of thanksgiving to The Most High for giving me such understanding at such a tender age.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

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 Our gratuitous "First Day of School" pictures that mimic the twenty five million posted on Facebook walls across America in late August. This picture is not to be confused with the one that was not taken on the day described below. 


***

When it was last week,

When I was wearing a quickly cast on pair of capris paired with my black pajama top,

When my focus was getting two little kindergartner's out our front door and down the street where their cronies and crossing guard were amassing,

had you been a fly in our kitchen you would have heard:

"I have given you plenty of options for a snack, and you have rejected each and every one.Thus I am making an executive decision. It's nacho chips. Final answer".

Even in half-day kindergarten (what I imagine to be a glorified preschool experience), the cute little half-pints are permitted to bring in a non-messy snack to quickly consume.

I typically stick a little bag of pretzels in the front pocket of their bags as they get ready. No choices, no fuss. It just so happened that on this occasion the eldest of the two school children had been in the kitchen during my snack dispensing and thus the morning that a host of "I will never" ghosts of life past came to haunt me.

To the sounds of wailing and gnashing of unbrushed teeth, I dropped the bag of plain nachos (which I know he normally enjoys) into the cavernous depths of his blue book bag. I debated on whether to extend snacking privileges to such a poor initial reaction, but mercy won out and in they went.  

His Irish-twin sister who is also in the same kindergarten class has been resistant to leaving in the morning. She loves her teacher and her class, it's just the "getting there" hump she needs to get over. Normally, I would have to stop her eager brother and remind him to take care to walk WITH her. But not on this particular morning. She stood outside waiting while he remained oddly absent.

As I walked back into the house looking for the boy with the totally dumb snack I found him defiantly slumped on the couch. Like any long suffering mother of the Christian Faith, I asked him tersely "What is the problem here? Don't tell me it's still about the nachos!".

"I CAN'T GO! Not with nachos. I don't even WANT nachos. I don't LIKE nachos. No one else brings nachos. Why can't you just peel me an apple?"

"Because we don't HAVE apples and because there is NO time! Now put on your back pack and lets' go. Annie's waiting."

The boy with the totally dumb snack AND wearing a blue super-hero's shirt that glows in the dark {insert the voice of Jeane` past: "I will never...let my children wear tacky character t-shirts!"} refuses to walk out the door. And so I "helped" him. Some might call it drag, but technically his legs were not limp nor his knees locked.

What ensued in the eternal moments following was a public spectacle in which, I had I been an observer 15 years ago, I would have immediately assumed that the mother was normally otherwise occupied with popping bon bons in her mouth, absorbed in her soaps while her offspring raised themselves. This scene could not have possibly fit into the life of two parents who lovingly and as consistently as they can, discipline their children and lead of life of example in terms of gratitude and respect. I would have called Jimmy Dobson on speed dial and informed him I had just found a perfect candidate for a "Christian Mom MakeOver" for their radio show.

The child would not leave. He could not get over the nachos. I held his hand, led him down to the sidewalk and said "Alright! You're GOING have a great day, forget about the nachos, and go catch up with your sister!" (who was standing in confused limbo a few paces down. She didn't dare come closer to me, 'cause I am pretty sure she saw the smoke starting to curl out of my nostrils.) As I ended my very pointed "encouragement", he dogded my outstretch claw and ran up the bank and back into the house. This happened not once, not twice but THREE freakin' times!!! And this, my sweet  and easy going boy! He is far from perfect, but has been the easiest one of the bunch to raise thus far. I was totally floored. Flabbergasted. I. was. mad.

I had no idea what to do. I saw sweet Miss Peggy the crossing guard at the corner, stop sign down at her side, with all the other rip roarin' ready to go students around her--all facing us. Twenty sets of eyes beholding this bra-less mother weaving and bobbing up and down her front steps in attempts to gain control of a situation gone awry involving her suddenly wayward son.

Here is where I would LIKE to write that I took a calming breath, hunkered down and looked into his eyes and in a sweet, nurturing tone said, "Sweetheart, I understand you don't care for nachos, and I will pack you something different tomorrow. Just know I love you and so does Jesus. You want to pray about this with mama before I send you off with a flurry of kisses on your sweet check?".

I would love to write that, but I'm not in the fiction market these days. 

Rather, what happened was that the mean old Nacho-Dispenser with coffee on her breath roared into the house (where Miss Peggy and her innocent bystanders couldn't see me), took the runaway son by the arm and we pretty much "flew" down the front steps as I pointed out to him the large and captive audience we had on the corner. As I walked him up to the next house (a 'running start' if you will), my fingers nearly embedded in his upper arm, I said with concealed furry: "You go, take your nachos, have a grateful heart and God bless. DO. NOT. COME. BACK."

Without maintaining eye contact, I flew back up on the porch where two twin boys were roaming in their Pull-Ups and my little hurricane four year old was pulling down the telephone wire. They were herded in and I watched out the window as my beloved son who nearly met the Lord just seconds before, met Miss Peggy instead and they all scurried up to school. After an hour or so my breathing pattern regulated its self and after three hours the son came back home. The first thing he wanted to do? Finish his snack. He remembered that he liked nachos after all.

***

I share this with you to say this: I could have handled that a million times better.

No doubt you all have suggestions for me. I know I was wrapped up in the emotion of the moment. I know that it's not all about 'control', but molding their little hearts towards obedience, yadda yadda yadda...

There are, however,  some moments in life where those whispers of "I will never" declarations NEED to haunt one's memory, so that you will remain humble and needful of a whole vat-full of God's abundant GRACE. We seek to mend wrongs, forgive ourselves for being human and move onward!

From one flawed mama to another...

Here's to a new day! 

(just in case you might have had one like it yourself today).