Woman on the Verge

Okay, so Thursday?

I was probably certifiable.

No. Really.

After Ana broke her collar bone on the playground at school on Tuesday, I was the pillar of matronly strength. My husband was out of town and I was spearheading our efforts to "stage" our house in anticipation of its sale and our subsequent move to Long Island, New York.

Dudes.

I was SO together.

So then, I got the call and took her to the clinic and it turned out that her collar bone really WAS broken so I took her home and I filled her pain medication prescription and then I kept her home the next day and spoiled her.

Thursday, I woke her up, helped her get dressed and took her and Jane to school.

But, I forgot something.

Namely that people who have broken collar bones aren't given much but a sling to wear.

Immediately, some small kids came careening past Ana in the hallway as we were standing there and jostled Ana's arm. She went white.

It was all I could do not to come completely unglued.

I checked her in and I talked to the teacher (who I am fairly certain thinks I am a lunatic at this point) and then I watched her walk down the hallway to her classroom and I... wanted to wrap her in bubble paper or walk beside her as her posse or something. I wanted to make her some sort of box frame she could wear to keep people three feet away.

But the thing is? There was nothing I could do except let her go and trust that she can somehow make her own protective space.

I'm just the Sherpa, see. She has to make her own way to the top of the mountain.

So I went and sat in my car and I cried. And I cried not only for how little protection there is for broken bones, but how little protection we really can give our kids for life, you know? And I shed a few tears for the fact that in about two months, she's going to have to walk down the hallways of a new school with exactly the same amount of protection.

I went home and faced my painters. Who were, honestly, so incredibly helpful and all 'going above and beyond' and I was in a cold, black mood. I think the crew knew something was up because they didn't even play their radio while they worked. They turned all of my shutters back right-side-up. I was painting in Ana's room, covering her neon green paint with fresh white and doing that happy, healthy thing where I make mental lists of all of my failures and shortcomings and then repeat them to myself and wonder how the heck my kids are ever going to grow up sane and well-adjusted with me as their mother. I drove back up to the school to do my normal Thursday volunteer thing and to check on Ana who was surrounded by a group of kids when I saw her, and perfectly okay. She didn't even want me to pick her up at the end of the school day but said she would take the bus home.

I went back home and back to painting and beating myself up. I was taping off the baseboard and the blue tape got tangled up and stuck to itself and I got frustrated at the way the whole world sometimes acts like freaking blue tape and gets all knotted up and beyond straightening out and I threw the whole roll across the room and said something incredibly foul.

Just as Tony, the painter, walked into the room.

I wish I had a picture of the look on his face. It was priceless.

I don't curse very much because I sound like a Smurf and it's so incongruous that when I do let something fly, the response of most people is to laugh.

Tony did not laugh.

Instead, he went to his truck and got a new roll of blue tape and he gave it to me and then he told me he'd be glad to finish up in Ana's room for me. Free of charge.

I declined since he was already doing so much and because I needed to finish SOMETHING, dang it.

In the afternoon, hokgardner dropped by with three decorated cookies. One for Ana for being so brave. One for Jane for being such a good sister. And one for me.

For being such a good mama.

I stole three hugs from her and then I said, "It's just... it's just..."

And she said, "Everything."

"Exactly."

She left and the painters packed up to leave and I apologized for losing it and they all made jokes about the times THEY'D lost it and how the one painter who wasn't there looks like Iggy Pop and curses a lot. They left.

Friday dawned a new day, with a fresh supply of hope and dignity (well, sort of, since we are talking about me and all.) I finished Ana's room, the painters painted Jane's room and my bathroom and best of all, Coop came home.