Thursday, January 6, 2011

A blessing

When our babies are little, the Professor blesses them at church and gives them a name. For the first four of our babies, I carefully took notes while dealing with whatever children were squirming nearby. While it worked well, something of the moment was lost.

With Young T, I wanted to experience the moment. I chose not to take notes, partly because each other time, somebody else had kindly done so. I'm glad I did, yet when we got home, it was hard to remember all that was said. A few weeks later, I found a card in the mailbox. A sweet friend I didn't know well yet had taken notes and written them up. For her it probably took five or ten minutes total to take notes, write them up, and drop them off. But it allowed me to really listen with my heart and not just my pen. I doubt she knows what a gift that was.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

A chip off the block

Yesterday, Young A joined the rest of the boys in their quest to be just like their daddy. You see, the Professor has acquired quite the collection of scars over the years, and each one comes with a story. He can tell you about the piano bench his forehead met or the side of the swimming pool that wasn't quite where he thought it was. His chin is good friends with the basketball court floor. (He didn't get in nearly enough trouble the time basketball put him in the emergency room four days after Young A was born.)

Two years ago, Young M joined the ranks of the scarred for life when his forehead made an energetic acquaintance with a brick hearth. A few months ago, Young T split his eyebrow on the floor. But until yesterday, Young A had escaped with an imperceptible scar under his lip. But Young A has never been one to do things imperceptibly.

Yesterday he fell off a four foot retaining wall and hit his head on the concrete. The rim of his glasses sliced his head open. When I asked the surgeon (The ER doctor declined the honor of stitching him up.) how many stitches he got, I was told he wasn't sure. Maybe 20? It takes quite a few to sew up an almost two inch gash. Since all of the boys now belong to the Forehead Scar club, I'm hoping we are done. I'd rather not be the mom of the My Scar is Bigger than Yours club.