Precious P

Yesterday I was up at Chicago's house.  I go there often to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a home full of kids and to answer to the name Marsha.  It makes my heart happy to be in that home.

I remember holding P shortly after his birth, his skinny little body managing to hold up this head that was in the ninety-fifth percentile for heads (I'm under-exaggerating I'm fairly certain).  He was so curious, looking every which way, taking in the world.  There is a picture of me and P at this point in his life (I attempted to find it but my 'things' are spread from garages in Farmington to California to Indianapolis with a few boxes up at the Lake, soon to be moved) and I love it so because it captures each of us in that moment of time, a brand new P to this exciting world and me about to embark on a mission with eyes naive to all it would be. 

He's the oldest brother of three younger siblings now.  They each look to him for friendship and assurance when something unknown is coming, like an afternoon at Marsha's house in Salt Lake.  P will lead the way with confidence and turn around to be sure they are following.  He's a boy, so there is teasing to be sure but I've not witnessed anything to get up in arms over.  He reads like it's going out of style and can converse with an adult (namely me as I'm among his favorites) without hesitation.  He's a champ and if I can convince him to fall more toward the middle rather than to the far right like his Pops and other family members I may run him for office with Cowboy, they would be QUITE the pair on Pennsylvania Ave.

Back to evening last.  P had come home from school with a plan, respectable for a nine year old.  He had discussed with his friends a play date for that evening as soccer practice would occupy the following night and a few other conflicts crowded the calendar for the remainder of the week.  He came in and presented this plan to Mama K.  There was a conflict on the family calendar however, it was Family Night at Gma's to help with the outside chores as Gma is not quite as nimble as she once was. P reacted quickly with outrage as he had a plan.  This moment went by quickly, his raw emotions taking over and a bit of a fit being thrown. Immediately Mama K asked him to go to his room and off he went, heavy steps up the stairs with words flowing down at how he didn't even help last time at Gma's because he was too little, so why did he have to go now. She offered the consequence to his choice of a fit, time away from friends further into the week, as he continued his rant.

As he was upstairs Mama K and I discussed parenting and how sometimes it is not always the most glamorous of jobs.  She told me how much she liked this group of friends that P wanted to play with and I mentioned that he had planned his own play date.  Before this conversation ended, or even came to a pinnacle point, a sniffle interrupted us.

P had come back down stairs.  He walked directly over to Mama K and gave her a hug. "Mom, I deserve my consequence.  I made a bad choice.  I know you are just trying to teach me a good lesson and that going to help Gma is a good thing." It was at this moment this gal's heart melted.  "I'm sorry Mom." I'm not certain if the sniffles were mine or P's at this moment.  Mama K gave him a tight squeeze and shared with him her love.

I do not share this story to embarrass P.  I share this story because sometimes I get anxious to bring children into this world full of unfounded ridicule and unabashed hatred. I get anxious to hold a little one in my arms and Lion King them (yes, you know what I'm speaking of) to a world that will judge them every second of each day for what they wear or what newest contraption they are using to entertain themselves.  I get anxious to send them to a home for a play date that I have not spent at least 100 hours in myself and had Uncle run a background check on the parents to be sure nothing sketchy has occurred within those walls, by said parents. I get anxious to have them watch the 6 o'clock news with me as I believe in being honest with them about the world they live in but how do you explain when a mother takes the life of her little boys or when bombs go off at the end of a race? I get anxious about it all.

But P is being raised in this same crazy world and look at him.  Look at his siblings.  They live in a happy house with loving parents and are not only fed and making it to school but thriving.  It's not impossible and I've got so many examples of happy homes to look towards, not the least of which being my own parents.  The world can be a scary place but good things are happening all around and good people, young and old, exist on every corner and between.

Happy and hopeful.