Working on it

I think Joel is fighting a cold. If this was Owen, I would shrug and accept that this is all part of life. But, since this is Joel, I always go to That Place and think about Those Things and I feel so helpless and terrified that my throat tightens up and tears come from nowhere.This isn't healthy, and I'm trying to work on it.

I was talking to Paul on the phone about it and I said, "Remember, when we were in the recovery room, after Joel's tubes were put in?" We were gazing down at Joel as he wore his little hospital gown, his duckling-fluff hair so bright and shiny against the dark-blue walls of the hospital crib. He was so still, and then, he slowly fought through the haze of the anesthesia. He gazed around, looking for his Mommy and Daddy, but all he saw were hazy, dark walls. He lifted up his hands, trusting that somebody, somewhere, would hold him.

Of course, I didn't say all of this to him, but when he said, "Of course I do," I knew that he understood the fears of That Place and Those Things, and knew exactly how I felt.

***

I've been such a disaster. Joel hasn't been sleeping as well, and everything falls apart when I'm tired. Today, for example, as I stepped into the lobby of the preschool, I realized that I had forgotten Owen's school bag. That is, the school bag with the apple in it.

The kids were supposed to bring in apples today for an activity. Over the weekend, we went to Wegman's, aka Owen's heaven, to pick out the best, most perfect apple. I, of course, put the apple in Owen's school bag so I wouldn't forget it.

His teacher said it was no big deal, and a thoughtful mom had brought in extra apples for all of the Loser Parents. Really, it worked out just fine.

But, probably because I'm tired and already nervous about Joel, I felt like crying. Over an apple. And a school bag.

And, when Owen came out, carrying his notes and crafts in a plastic grocery bag, he was smiling. His teacher, however, was concerned about Owen's habit of constantly touching himself. "Does he need to use the restroom?"  she asked.

"No, " I sighed. "That's just his thing. We're working on it."

***
 I know that the stress of these  various  workable problems was getting to me when a friend mentioned, concerned, that she could hear the irritation in my voice.

"I know," I said, "I'm working on it."

I just need to know where to start. Anyone?

Obligatory Owen's-First-Day-Of-Preschool Post

It was fantastic. Whenever I doubt that God is looking out for us, I'll remember this day.

On the way to school, after we had stopped at Starbucks (of course), Owen was giving me my marching orders:

"Mom, when you drop me off at preschool, make sure that you give me a kiss and a hug. Don't forget." He pointed his little finger at me, as if he was giving a lecture on quantum physics.

"I'm on it, Buddy," I replied. I swallowed hard, worrying for him. I truly felt, in my heart of hearts, that he would be fine. But yet, what if today was the day that everything was too scary, too much, too everything?

We went inside, and posed for slightly awkward pictures.

Then, he immediately went to the washer and dryer and started playing.

I said, "Okay, Owen, come here and give me a hug and kiss goodbye." Owen continued playing until I pressed the issue, "Owen, I'm leaving!"

"Okay, Mommy, here's your hug." He gave me a quick hug and immediately went back to work. Those imaginary clothes have stubborn stains, as you can imagine.

I left, and Joel and I did storytime and went to Panera with some other moms. I even squeezed a quick run in. This is the magic library-Panera-Starbucks-gym quad of awesome which made this preschool the front-runner.

When we returned to school, I learned that Owen's job of the day was "Cheerleader." He was given a sparkly wand, and he pointed to a chart that had the letters of his name on it. The teacher said, "Give me an O," and Owen pointed to the O with the wand. This was repeated with all of the letters, and then Miss Speck said, "What does that spell?" and the kids cried, "OWEN! YAY!" This is the chart:

If that isn't proof of a loving God, I don't know what is. My baby, on his first day of school, EVER, got an entire room of children to cheer for him. I didn't cry when I said goodbye to him, but I almost did when I heard this story.

In addition to cheerleading, Owen made silly putty, read a book called Silly Sally, ate cheese sticks and grapes, learned more about the letter "S," and had recess. Too wonderful.

When he came out, he ran to me, smiling ear to ear. Miss Speck said, "Owen is very polite. He's a fantastic kid."

Thank you, Lord, for this amazing first day.