The Church's Candles

          "Mommy, they sound like candles," Boone said as he listened to the choir on Sunday morning. "Candles?" I asked not sure if I heard him right.
     "Yes, mommy, candles. Their singing goes up and down like the fire" he said.
"You mean like the flame of a candle?" I asked and he nodded yes excited that I finally understood what he meant.
      "Why is she wearing all black?" he asked.
I was relieved I could answer that one easily, "she must like the outfit. Mommy is wearing black, it is a nice color." He continued his observations with the conductor moving her hands up and down was like she was putting out the candles then bringing them back to life.
      "She controls the candles," was his conclusion. And it was then I saw church through five year old eyes.
           We sat in the balcony on Sunday because that's where my kids like to sit. Boone went on to ask about the microphones that hang from the ceiling, the flowers on the stage, why the minister wore a black robe did he and the music lady plan that... who killed Jesus, "Didn't they know what they were doing?" And then he saw the baptismal. "That's where you get dunked," he said.
"That is where you are baptized," I corrected.
      "What is that exactly?" he asked and I explained it was a public declaration of bringing Jesus into your heart. "I want to do that," he said when I am like 7 or 8 which seems forever in his mind.
I asked "why wait" and he said He could fit better in an bigger heart, "He needs enough room to fit".

I did not learn any great life lesson in those moments but I came away with a fun memory. Boone is not the easiest kid to raise but despite our not so spectacular moments that morning I felt some assurance that it would all be okay.

My Christmas Story

At 5 AM we heard quick footsteps on the hardwoods above our room, then a second set joined suit. “They’re up,” was all I got out before they started down the stairs.

            “Did he come? Did, he? OH MY GOODNESS!” B squealed as he peaked into the front room. The Christmas tree was lit and presents were overflowing. The glow of the tree’s tiny white lights were exaggerated the early hour; the pitch black morning framed through the picture window behind the tree.  

            That is how the Christmas 2015 started. Just as I wanted: in our home, the kids running down the stairs to see Santa’s delivery, squeals of delight. The largest gift was from me and H but mostly well actually all of it was from him, my name got attached somehow and I did not correct anyone.  The kids opened the front door and an urban scooter was on the porch. Not a Vespa but a scooter minus the sidecar that was ordered but did not make in time for Christmas. Each kid (including my husband, the biggest kid of all) got a real helmet not like the cheap plastic ones we got them for their first bike ride. As it was pointed out to us, our children’s heads will be the same height as every car’s bumper. Ugh!

            H agreed to the kids’ demands for a ride on the new toy. B climbed up first then E got her turn when they returned. I even went for a quick spin before picking up the torn tissue and wrapping paper that littered the floor and packing for our planned trip to my parents in South Texas.  There was a lot to do to get me and the kids ready. What was a peaceful feeling at 530AM was turning into a slightly overwhelming feeling. The maternal stress that never really leaves me started creeping its way back into its familiar place in my bones. H sensed my this and offered to take the kids for hot cocoa at the neighborhood coffee joint they noticed was opened on their earlier joy rides. The house was then quiet and I started my packing.

            Twenty minutes later, E bounced through the door. I asked where her brother was and was told, “Dad is going back to get him. We can’t both ride at once.” GULP. In a calm voice, “You mean Dad left him at the coffee shop? Where?” She said he was outside on the benches. Please remember we are talking about my 5-year-old son. He’s 5 and alone at a coffee shop. E saw I was about to loose my cool and interrupted the process with, “he’s fine mom. Geesh, he’s with that singer dude you like with 3 names. John Jackson Joe or whatever.” With a tilted head and puzzled head, I asked her who she was talking about again. She said, “that guy, the singer. Me: “Jerry Jeff Walker??” With relief in her face she said “Yea, him. He’s drinking coffee by B so its all good. I’m still outraged but then both H and B walked in the door safe and there was too much to do so starting that discussion did not make sense; I kept packing and loading the car.

            Thirty minutes later I am in the car wearing my Mrs. Claus apron and Santa hat in total Christmas spirit with the kids ready to go. This is my new car. My first solo road trip in it. I push the ignition button…nothing. I had left the keys inside on the counter and could see in my mind exactly where they were so I asked E to please run inside and get them. Minutes later a crying, hysterical, red faced child comes sprinting to the car.

             It turns out that when picking up my keys E did her traditional flare thing and threw them above her head in a playful gesture. In doing so she hit one of the custom lights that hangs above our kitchen bar shattering the light fixture. I got out to clean up the mess after I got that story out of her. She was afraid her father would flip out which he probably did once he saw it but that was after I cleaned it up and left. Honestly, the broken light just matched the other one B knocked a hole in when he played football in the house. It's all good. Forward motion I kept thinking, just have to move forward.

             E is still crying when I get back to the car. I offered comfort but at 9 years old her drama meter is higher than mine. Forward motion…. Just keep moving…  I drive three blocks from our home and stop at the stop sign to hear the crying get louder, the back lights illuminated and now B is yelling at E to stop her tears. It is complete chaos. I turn around and ask what is going on, can they please stop or tone it down I was trying to drive, yada yada yada…. Sometime during that plea I lifted my foot slightly off the break and rolled forward a bit. It was then we hear and feel the crash. At the exact moment I rolled a man turned the corner and we hit. My car mostly unharmed, his back bumper hanging like a tooth that needs to be pulled. Great.

               I reverse-that’s the opposite of forward motion- park, get out and do not even begin to argue or make some excuse of it not being my complete fault. I did not have the capacity. The cops showed up, we filled out the reports and between interviews I am now telling E to suck it up and stop crying. She is telling me now hers were not tears of guilt over the light but for me wrecking my new car. My voice raises  as I yell at B to get his tail back in the dang car after each attempt to run home and get his father. "Its just down the street," he yells. "but you are 5!!!!" I yell back, "get in this car NOW". My husband was on the other line and not answering his phone and well, I was holding it together but just barely.

                The cop finally called me over to visit with the other driver.  I am now standing in my Mrs. Claus apron- minus the Santa hat- on the side of the road again admitting fault. And that’s when it happened. The cop said he should give me a ticket but was not going to, “Its Christmas”. And the man I hit looked at me and said, “and I remember those days. My kids are grown now but (he paused looking down) I remember.” My eyes welled up with tears. Two complete strangers saw me for who I was in that stupid apron and I was so thankful for their understanding. My husband showed up on the scooter, assessed the damage, went back home got some rope and tied the man’s bumper back onto the car. We all left and I finally got enough forward motion to get to my parents. Still in the apron but in need of a hug and a nap from the emotions of Christmas Day.

                   Insurance is working the claim, we have recovered, the lights are not fixed but I’m making a conscious effort to drive more carefully and no one was hurt. Most of that day is a blur. I can publish this account only because I wrote the first of this piece days after Christmas when it was still fresh in my mind. I do not remember much but I will not forget the moment of kindness shown to me that day. Their eyes were not judgmental but understanding and for that I am thankful. The older I get the more I appreciate the moments not the days that mean so much.