The Things We Do For Our Children...

At my gym, the Kids Klub offers fun crafts each week centered around a theme. Last week it was all about transportation, and during the time Max was at the gym, he got to make a sail boat and a hot air balloon. He was very proud of these creations and so I hung them on our fridge. He likes to take people into the kitchen and say "Look what I did." Now of course, it's the same three people over and over: Me, Daddy, Uncle Eli, Me, Daddy, Uncle Eli-- but each time we act wowed by his work and so in essence, egg him on.

So anyway, this week, it's all about zoo animals. Great, right? WRONG. Because Monday, first day of the week, first craft of this theme, I walk in to Max and Lizzy waving s-n-a-k-e-s in my face. Yep. Green ones. With decor done by those little tykes, complete with polka dots, and stripes. Slithery ones too. And Max, he's just thrilled by this creation, even though I've taught him to promptly say "Yuck!" anytime anyone mentions the s-word or if he sees one. And by sees on, I mean on tv, because naturally, I do not come close to those things and neither do my children.

In case you don't remember, I have a crazy fear of those things- I lose sleep when I allow my mind to think about their existence, I take the longer route if I fear one might possibly live on/ near the shorter route, I check the toilet for them, I check my driveway for them, and when I'm feeling brave, I even look in the trees above to make sure there aren't any hanging around my head. And this is a whole different level of fear than the kind you play pranks with- I lose complete control and ability to think like a rational being when those things (the s-word) come into play. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. I wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not. Not even a little bit. I literally have thought through how I would respond if one was coming after/towards/ near my children and I can't honest say, I don't know that I'd have to guts to go get them and save them, because of my own freezing, terrifying, fear.

So with that being said, back to the green S-word being waved in my face by my proud 2 year old. So he loves it, I mean LOVES it- like more than anything he's ever made. I snatch it out of his hand quickly and drop it in my gym back. He puts his hand sanitizer on like a good boy then asks for his creation. I tell him it's in my bag and start walking-- surely he'll forget about it. He's two. Plus, I'm not above bribing him with candy. He asks again-- pleads, rather. So I mention his favorite colors of M&M's... he's not swayed. He wants his darn paper s-n-a-k-e-- he wants to "holds it in dis hand" to be exact. So of course I hand it over- because if I make a big deal about it, then surely he'll be on to me in a way that admits weakness and shows him how important this is to me that this thing disappear FOREVER (The Sandlot kind of forever-- you know FOOOORREEVVVVVVERRRRRRRR), so in order to show that it is not important at all (IT IS!) I fish it out of my bag and nonchalantly hand it to him like it's no big thing.

We get to the car, and I try to throw it under the seat while I buckle him in, but he asks for it again. We stop at Publix on the way home, and again, I try to hide it down beside his carseat while I'm getting him out, but again, he finds it and clings to it with pride and joy. Now why he has so much pride and joy in this dumb piece of construction paper is beyond me- I mean we make stuff all the time, he makes stuff at church all the time, and we have a perfectly cute hot air balloon and sailboat displayed on our fridge. But nonetheless, he carries that green, slimy, slithery thing throughout the store, waving it around and showing it to other shoppers. He delicately protects it as we go out into the blustery day, and continues talking about it like it's a gift from the Lord. I park him in the cart at the back of the van, while I grab Jack and begin to strap him in and put the 2 grocery bags in the car. I'm almost done when I hear, "Ohhhh MOMMY, MY S-N-A-K-E-- I yost it, I yost it, heeeeellllp." (When help becomes a 6 syllable word, I know it's bad.) I turn around to see the thing blowing across the parking lot. I turn to Max in relief, prepared to tell him that this was the Lord's Will and it is now gone forever, only to see huge, and I mean HUGE crocodile tears running down his cheeks.

So what was I to do? I did the only thing a loving mom could do. I went running and dashing and scurrying all over the blame parking lot trying to catch the thing. And when I did (under my shoe) I had to make myself bend over and pick the thing up. I handed him to Max, who beamed at me in delight and literally hugged the thing to his face. And as soon as we walked into our own house, Max asked for a piece of tape to hang the darn thing on the fridge.

So now, not only did I chase the darn thing and rescue it from it's demise, it lives in our kitchen. And did you notice the red spots on it's head? I'm sure that means it's the poisonous kind. This is against everything I am. But that's love, friends-- true love. The things I do for that boy........