Sweet Perspective

Background: My eldest son’s class went to a Nursing Home this week and I chaperoned… in my spare time. They do this once a quarter and he hates it. These are 4th graders, trying desperately to connect with some seriously drugged up elderly people. These aren’t people like their grandparents, these folks are in some bad seriously bad shape. It’s difficult to watch the kids try to communicate, trying to make sense of it, really seriously trying, but feeling very uncomfortable.

For instance, my son picked this one woman and walked over to hand her the card he made. She was barely cognizant of his presence and then her face fell over and a cup of drool poured out of her mouth. He jumped back and stared at me with a look of total horror and revulsion as I stood across the room watching… feeling awful for him (she was completely doped up and unaware of what had occurred), but also in some way kind of laughing inside at the whole situation because of his expression and I'm nervous for him and… I am a bad mom and I know I’m going to hell… so no nasty comments please.

Last night I had to go to my husband’s company Christmas party and I didn’t really want to go because I’m really stressed, I don’t feel like I fit in, and because I just wanted to crawl in bed and go to sleep instead. We’re in the car after school and the kids are trying really really hard to see if they can make me go nutso enough that my head may twist around at a full 180 spewing bile and bugs at them. I’m losing it, really losing it and finally I said, “Guys! You are so pushing your luck. I have a lot to do and don’t mess with me anymore! I have party I have to go to tonight that I’m not thrilled about… and on and on and on…” Of course this is all at shouting level… loud enough you could probably hear me over jet noise.

I finish my psychotic rambling and my oldest quietly says, “Whose party is this that you don’t want to go to?”

I replied, “It’s just a party that I don’t feel comfortable going to…”

And through the rear view mirror I see him look at me intently and as serious and heartfelt as a 9 year old can get he says, “Mom. Is your going to that party the same way I feel about going to the Nursing Home?”

I love my boy.