By Cathy Jameson

My five-year old is my mini-me.  She mirrors what I looked like as a child—wispy brown hair, big brown eyes, spitfire attitude (a.k.a., What About Me?!), creative, clever and downright cute.  She watches things from a distance, craves to be center of attention but struggles with self-control skills.  That can lead to tripping over nothing or knocking into things while bounding from one room to another.  Even with the accident-prone abilities she has, I love the spunk that oozes out of this displaced middle child of mine.  Happily, Ronan looks up to this younger sister of his when she offers him assistance.  Izzy guides him in ways I cannot.  He follows many of her encouraging cues after a simple prompt which is always followed by a doting sister’s glee-filled smile.

I am coming up for air after a recent surgery.  These last few weeks have been painful physically for me, but more so, mentally exhausting for Izzy.  She didn’t know how to handle the changes to our household (and there were many).  From detailed pre-op planning to a tiring post-op recovery I was here but not really.  Mommy couldn’t make owies better (blown kisses from a distance don’t cut it).  Mommy was sleeping while sibling squabbles took longer to subside.  Mommy was missing out on much, if not all of everyone’s life for a few days.  Izzy craved to see me, but I was in no condition those first few days to do anything but rest alone away from the constant pulse that is our home.  Unfortunately, negative behaviors started.  Kid-sized retaliation occurred.  Feelings were hurt.  My ‘What About Mini-Me’ finally melted.  I hated to see her so frustrated while trying to comprehend all that was going on around her. 

At the end of the first week as Izzy saw me get a little bit stronger she started to calm down.  She tiptoed down the hallway when she entered the room where I was resting.  She peeked around the doorway when she thought I wasn’t looking to stare at me.  When I caught her eye she threw me a signed ‘I Love You’ sign, flashed a smile and sped away. 

That same week I was willing myself back to life Izzy was more vocal about praying.  She came home from school asking if she could say a new prayer she’d learned.  I said that would be so nice because she was trying so hard to be helpful.  “We give you thanks, Almighty God, for the gifts we… <giggle giggle giggle>….and this we ask forever and ever.  AMEN!” In true kindergarten form, Izzy had left out a few of the key words, smooshed together random ones and made up her own prayer by adding something new.  I was so grateful for her contribution.  My other kids were already sending up daily and nightly prayers:  “And, please get Mommy better!” they said with all of their heart.  They were desperate for me to be better and now, not in the 4-6 weeks the doctor suggested it would take to heal.  To speed things up I had little nurses running around me making sure I ate, rested and got up carefully.  The kids started to accept that this really was only temporary and that I’d be back on my own feet again soon.  Over time I wasn’t hearing, “MOMMY, be careful!  Mommy, watch your tummy! and, Mommy, are you allowed to lift that?!” when I would made myself something to eat.  Smiles eventually returned to my children’s faces and they gave thanks that I was finally with the general population again. 

We give you thanks for the gifts…

This week I am very thankful for further healing so I can be Mommy x 5.  Each day I get as their Mom gives me the chance to right any wrongs that tried to cross my path the day before.  Many days are rough even before my alarm has gone off.  I’m not so thankful on the days that Ronan has awoken me at some ungodly hour with random middle-of-the-night laughter.  I drag myself out of bed never feeling fully rested.  I wonder which emotion will greet me from the sleepy children I must rouse for school.  Tired and cranky are no fun to hang out with at 7am.  I fall back to my ever-vigilant hopeful self pleading that today be *the* day that Ronan takes a big turn as well as a huge leap toward full recovery.  Knowing that his journey is slow but thankfully somewhat steady I promise myself again to keep plugging away.