Lets train

One of those moments

Memaw gave me this framed picture for Christmas. I believe she has this print in her house because it already reminded me of her before she gifted it to me.



With it came a typed note to explain that when Truman hit his head on my parents' foosball table over Thanksgiving, she immediately thought about how someone must have been watching over my little boy during that incident. It still boggles my mind to think about how badly he could have been injured because I still hear the loud SMACK ringing in my ears months later. How did he not smash his eyeball, losing his vision? What about the bridge of his little nose? Or all of his front teeth? How is it possible that he fell 'perfectly' into the table and only got a small cut on the outside of his eye that didn't need stitches, along with a wicked shiner? I have to agree with Memaw on this one. An angel must have prevented a horrible injury in my parents' basement.

I don't know how you feel about God and faith and angels. Obviously all three of these concepts are fairly abstract and difficult to 'prove', which is why so many people can't accept them for reality. I'm not sure about a floating spirit with wings in the literal sense, but I do believe that there are times when we have God or something else very kind and loving watching out for us. Guiding us through dark times. Even though God doesn't stop all awful things from happening to us, I do believe he wants the best for us and has our backs in most cases.

This post wasn't supposed to be a debate about religion and angels, so I hope I didn't just open up the proverbial can of worms. But I wanted to tell you a story about Truman and his discovery of this picture Memaw gave to me.

On Good Friday, the kids were in my bedroom with me as I got dressed after a shower. Truman was running around the room like a mad man, as always and suddenly he noticed this picture sitting on the bottom shelf of my side table.

'Who is that, Mommy?' he asked me.

'Oh, that's a picture Memaw gave to me. It's an angel watching over a little boy and girl as they cross a bridge. I think the angel is protecting the kids while they are walking,' I replied, holding my breath that he wouldn't be too freaked out about the idea of a giant, winged person hovering over children. But he was shockingly silent for minutes. Let's remember that he is three and therefore he is NEVER silent for minutes. Heck, nothing holds his attention for longer than 1 minute so it was a pretty big deal to see him quietly staring at the picture. I wish I could have peeked into his little brain as the wheels were turning.

I asked him, 'Do you like that picture, buddy?'

'Yeah. I do. Can I take it with me into the hallway?' he wanted to know, because I told him I was moving into the bathroom next, to fix my hair.

'Sure you can, buddy,' I told him and I started getting a little choked up. My precious boy---who loves to push my buttons when the mood suits him---was really attached to this image of an angel watching over two children. There was just something kind of surreal and 'stop everything and pay attention' about that moment for me. Which is why I'm blogging about it now.

He ended up laying on the ground, looking at the picture even longer and then asked to move it into Cecelia's room with us. I didn't know what to ask him at this point but I hoped he would ask me his questions about it.

Next thing I knew, he pointed right at the angel and said, 'That's you, mommy.' (Heart melted). (Gulp).

I told him that I loved the idea of mommy watching over a little boy and girl, which could be Truman and Cecelia. One of each, holding hands and crossing the bridge together--venturing out on their own, or perhaps 'growing up' and becoming more independent. Moving away from constant care from their parents and out into the huge world before them. I mean, talk about some symbolism. Let's not focus on the fact that Truman said I looked angelic (and ghostly pale, and a little eerie, with enormous black eyebrows).

He seemed to like my explanation of these three characters, so I went on to say that any time I have to leave Truman I always think of him. Lately we've been talking about how we miss each other when we are apart. On our drive back home from Lori's he will usually tell me, 'I missed you today, mommy.' It's really amazing--my tender-hearted boy. I'd like to promise I can watch over him and protect him from anything scary but of course, but wouldn't we all wish for that superpower in this frightening world?

As a mom, I think that is the hardest part of parenting: knowing you cannot protect them from pain. They will have to make mistakes, have broken hearts, and have their innocence revoked at some point. Oh, it hurts my heart just to think of anyone being cruel to my kids. It makes me angry, actually, but it's also sad to think about bullies and peer pressure and having to navigate our society. I suppose that is all apart of growing up and our parents survived us going through each stage, and we will survive, too. All the more reason to savor their innocence now---even when Truman is being downright naughty, the whiny/needy stuff is still probably easier to tolerate than the heavy emotional fatigue that comes with parenting a middle-schooler/high-schooler and beyond. I'm tired as heck right now and parenting small kids is ridiculously hard; physically hard. But I can't even imagine the emotions that will come with parenting a teenager. And I won't even talk about parenting a teenage girl in this post---we'll keep it mostly about my son for now;)

I told Truman that God and maybe even angels are always with him and his sister even if mommy can't be right there. Then I told him that I love him more than he will ever know and I miss him when we are apart. I didn't tell him that I also crave my time alone in order to maintain my sanity. It's all about balance and on the days I feel well-balanced, I feel like I can conquer the world. Just wish those balanced days happened more often but I'll take those rare beauties any time they pop up.

Not only did Truman tell me I was the angel in the painting, but he is now also telling me (without being asked): "Mommy, you are my best friend." Sigh.

I don't think there is anything sweeter in the entire world than that statement right there. So I shall video tape it and watch it every night when he is 16 and hates his lame/overbearing/annoying/dorky mom. And I will probably cry in the corner, while watching my precious three year old say I'm his best friend. Because I kind of want to cry now just thinking about it. Let's hope he is a mama's boy forever and his future wife not only understands, but adores me. One can hope, right? ;)

Thank you God for this precious boy of mine. Help me to be patient with him. And help me create more time for myself so I can be a better mother to him when we are together. Thank you for those moments when the world stops and becomes very clear--remind me to slow down and appreciate them more often.