Red Confetti

Do you ever feel like your heart is being torn to pieces? Red confetti tossed about, blowing in the wind? It is how I am feeling right now. Wide awake with worry and love and hope all mixed together. It's the mothering kind of worry, the kind that tears at you little by little until you can't sleep at night. These children of mine are the reason. And since it is all running in circles in my mind, I will try to set it straight here so I can have some peace.

I will start with the littlest. How I love that boy. He is all the things a little boy should be wrapped up into squishy piece of perfect. I know this, I know how lucky I am. And last week he scared me to death. We were having the idyllic summer day at our friends ranch. One last hurrah before school began. We made our way to the swimming hole and the kids were in heaven, all of them. Brooks and Paige had life jackets and bobbed about. Jeffrey strapped on his goggles and swam until his lips turned blue. Owen took over a canoe and flirted with the girls. And I watched, relaxed, chatting with my friends. Until I turned and Brooks was gone. Gone. How long had it been? Five minutes? It could have been more. Or less. Who really knew? But in those minutes I began to panic. I had taken his life jacket off, he was done swimming. And he wasn't really a wanderer. I called his name, louder and louder. I could hear the panic building in my own voice. My friends ran around looking, yelling. Owen heard and came running. Where do you even start? I prayed. Hard. And then someone yelled that they had found him. Had I really been holding my breath all those minutes? Could I finally breathe?He had followed two other boys along a trail. And then he was there again, and I squeezed him tight and wanted to cry, but I didn't. It sounds entirely dramatic, I know. But is scared me silly. Or straight. Whichever is worse. And it stayed with me for days after. I kissed him and hugged him and kissed him some more. All the kids, really. Because things like that, even 5 minute things, make you appreciate the perfection in your life.

Then there is that Paigey girl. What else is there to say about her that hasn't been said. It is beginning to be ridiculous, this loss that I feel. She is not getting married, she is going to kindergarten. Kindergarten! And yet, I know that we will be different after this. And I love us right now. And a little more of that red confetti starts to blow.

And then my Owen. Anything with Owen tears at my heart. And today was a doozie. It is the reason I am sitting at my computer at 3 in the morning trying to straighten out some of those circles in my head. Today was his first soccer game of the season. A new season and a new team and new coaches. All of which cause this boy of mine some major anxiety. He loves soccer and he can play well when his head doesn't get in the way. And today it did. He has played on the same team for the last two years. They were good. They won all their games. And today he played on a new team and they did not win. He does not have friends on this team to make him comfortable or a coach who understands him. It is all new. And it scares him. Their best player was out of town, they had no subs. They were playing against his best friend's team. All of it together was just too much for him to handle. He couldn't catch his breath. He got pushed and he pushed back. The coaches told him to stop, not to use his body, he is too big. He had heard this his entire life. Being big can be hard sometimes. And he started to cry. Right there on the field. My big, little 7 year old started to cry. Right before a ball hit him in the face. And then he really cried and couldn't stop. Big, gasping sobs. I felt like crying too. Because I knew how frustrated he was. How embarrassed he felt. And I wanted to make it all go away. I wanted to take him off that field and pretend like none of it had happened. I wanted that burning in my chest to go away because I knew that it was burning even hotter in his chest. But none of that happened. It did not go away. He sat and sobbed. People stared. His coaches told him they needed him on the field. And he went back in, tears streaming down his face. And my heart broke for him. Broke.

I know I will look back at this someday (tomorrow? next week?) and realize what a good life lesson he is learning through all of this. I can even remember a post I wrote last season about what a great teacher soccer is for these boys of mine. Bah. Do not believe my past self or my future self if I somehow wax poetic over this incident later on. I am full of it.

Now onto Jeffrey. This one is a work in progress. Something I never thought this boy of mine would have to deal with. Jeffrey has always been the friendliest, most talkative, nicest, happiest, funnest... He made friends everywhere we went. At church, at the grocery store, at the playground, at the pool. It was easy for him. And then he grew up. And those friends were not so easy to come by. His best friend next door moved last month. The kids at church make fun of him. School is hit and miss. And he is lonely. My heart aches for him. I remember being ten. When all of the sudden some kids were cool and other kids were not and it seemed very, very important who you were friends with. I am not even sure that Jeffrey cares about the cool part. He just wants a friend. Someone to eat lunch with. Someone to play Lego's with after school. Someone that is nice to him. He thinks it is him. That maybe his hearing aids are weird. Or that he talks too much. Or that he is annoying. Just writing this, knowing that he thinks it, makes me hurt inside. So I keep hoping. Hoping that some boy will move in next door. Or down the street. Or in his class. The perfect boy to be friends with my boy. Someone who loves to play soccer and build Lego's and ride his bike around the lake. Someone who will see how really cool my Jeffrey is and want to be his friend. That is what I want, what I pray for every single night. With my eyes scrunched tight so Heavenly Father will know how much I want it. That much.

So that is it. That is the red confetti. Moms do this. I know. But moms also do this part. They worry and think and worry until somehow it all works itself out. Because of the worry. And I am just waiting for the working out part to happen. With my eyes scrunched really tight.