We sat around the table the last few Sundays, as a family, playing games. Steve and I have dreamed for this day--when the boys are old enough to tell us what to do with the game rules as we laugh and joke about random nothings! We still have little girls, so when they are there with us, the games are chosen to suit them. It is STILL, and ever has been, fitting to dip into the youngest child's learning patterns in order to be unified as a family from the bottom up--it is only right!
We played a simple game, in which you roll some die, and with the pictures you randomly land on, you tell a story. Story telling is kinda' challenging, it requires one to dive deep into their minds and pull out a plot...determine the setting and characters...perhaps even bring the story to a climax with an eventual outcome, and hopefully...a principle will be presented!
The magic in the game days is not really found in the story telling.
The magic begins as each member of the family comes together and shares a little bit of themselves, freely, with each other.
This, repeated over and over again, will instill trust.
I can laugh around them.
I can be goofy and make mistakes.
Maybe I can even get frustrated or angry when I lose, or accidentally kill off the main character in my story!
There may be some tears cried over being the loser, but eventually you will be fine with losing; don't we all need that in this day and time? NOT EVERYONE WINS!!! In this life, we are all on different playing fields and it is mostly about gain and competition. In this life, not everyone wins, and that's okay! I was honored to hear my family proclaim Maya as the winner of our last game. Maya is 3 and had no idea what she was doing as she tossed the pigs and I tallied points this past weekend, but it put a smile on her face! I was even more delighted when I heard a happy little ring to Lydia's voice right after the victory shout for Maya; Lydia, who is 5, proclaimed, with a tune to the statement, "I'm the loser!!!" We laughed so hard and everyone said it that night! "I'm the loser!"
Losing gives us gifts. We are encouraged to come up with strategies, implement plans, follow through with hard things--like work! Losing can give us greater satisfaction when one day we actually do win! That will be a great day!
As I have been browsing people on facebook, and studying a few interactions here, and a few interactions there, I have realized, we are all just that, an image, to each other.
I once had personal conversations with people in high school, I fought with them, laughed at them, and I even cried many times with them. It was wonderful because it allowed something beautiful to happen--we learned to trust and love each other. I have since had those types of relationships form into a family of my own. Though I know that there were a handful of people I felt personally connected to on facebook, I came to realize that my relationship with most of these people is not better than it was the last time I saw them face to face, or heard their voice on the telephone and received a letter in the mail, perhaps!
Though I did have some sweet friendships form through social networking, it was a sudden vision in clear view today when I looked at my REAL life and said,
"I want people to know the real me. I want people to laugh at how funny my stuttering is when I get tired, or angry. I want to be flawed to them, because when you are flawed, you are more readily accepted as normal. I don't want to portray a false image of being perfect, lest I give that impression to a woman half way across the U.S.--or world-- who is struggling and wondering 'why me?'"
I have been that woman who looks at the smiles, the perfect bodies, the funny stories, and the riches at times and said, "Why me?" I'm not ashamed to admit that, there is a little bit of self pity in all of us.
But...when those thoughts came, I took a little inventory of the life I have had with my family for 12 years now. I remembered being in a basement apartment with an 18 month old little boy and another on the way. I recall making dinner one night when my sweet Connor dropped a pickle jar that was sitting by the trash to go out the next day. This was a giant pickle jar, Costco size! I heard a shatter and looked over to him, my little babe. He was face down, over the entire shattered glass jar. My mother in law upstairs had just left the house that night...I screamed "MOM!!!" in a desperate attempt to bring her to my side in-case my worst fears were fulfilled, upon examination. There was no answer. My husband and father in law were working together....I was alone, and about to experience the second parenting trauma I had ever had.
I picked up my little guy and there was blood everywhere. I examined the core of his body first, his abdomen and chest, and found nothing. Then, my eyes found the source...it was his leg, right below his knee. I saw a large triangular portion of glass,
jabbed into his leg. I grabbed a white kitchen towel, pulled out the glass and wrapped the towel around his leg as tight as I could. At this time, I didn't see the wound, but I saw a ton of blood trickling down the leg of his pants. I called 911, begging for someone to come as fast as they could to help me. "I'm alone!," I screamed, "...he fell on glass and there's blood everywhere..." Tears poured down my cheeks while he screamed and trembled in pain, not a piece of his body capable of movement as he was stifled in his fear.
Then it came, with quivers and crackles, some of the words hardly spoken...because of inevitable tears that flowed down my face...
"Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky...Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are..."
The 911 call was still in progress until the paramedics arrived, which was about 10 minutes, and I sang on repeat for what felt like an eternity.
The paramedics were wonderful, fully equipped with a little bear to hand to my "Connor Dude" for the ride to the hospital.
I had called my husband many times, and he, with his father, were rushing to meet us there.
When we arrived, they whisked Connor and me through a long plastic white tunnel, as the hospital was being remodeled, and into a room for immediate treatment. I didn't know what the outcome was yet because I did what I needed to by nature, and I wrapped his leg tightly; they finally untied the towel at the hospital. There was a lot of blood, and the gash was just below his knee, almost parallel to his foot and started at the middle of his knee cap, ending at his inner thigh. I saw every layer of tissue as they irrigated the wound--all while my son screamed in agony and pain..tied to a board-- hands, feet, and head. I stroked his head...and Grandpa and Daddy arrived to comfort his as well, it was torture. There were tears from Grandpa and Daddy; I recall a priesthood blessing being administered, and I recall every stitch they put into him.
My trembling, bloody fingers wiped his tears, and my quivering lips kissed his head. The glass had lacerated the entire portion of fatty tissue and was in contact with the muscle, but it did not pierce the muscle. He was within millimeters of his growth plate, the muscle, and the artery in his leg being pierced. He was given a miracle that night--we were given a miracle that night....his continued life.
I felt traumatized by the entire event. I was 6 months pregnant, was within minutes of eating a bit of warm malt-o-meal with Connor when the accident happened, so I was hungry, and I was mostly just struck with grief.
My baby had to go home with a brace on his stitched knee and take a break from typical toddler movement for a small piece of time.
But still...I had my baby with me, and he was mine.
Steve drove the three of us home in the little car we had at the time. I was in shock, but crying still. He asked if we had eaten--to which I replied, "No, I was in the middle of making me and Connor dinner when the jar broke." Suddenly, the flood gates opened as I said, "We only have $7 in the account though." My Steve looked at me, and without hesitation, said, "That's okay, I'm gonna get you two something to eat right now. I don't need anything."
After having 5 children, there are days that I go all day without eating and don't think about it anymore, but looking back helps me understand the feelings that accompanied that small act of love right there. When he sacrificed his desires and needs for me and Connor, I was overcome with happiness and relief. Every sacrifice we make, no matter how small, is met with a heart of joy by our God. Life may dull our sensitivity to those acts in time, but it is never dulled when God is at the core of who you are, and you have eyes that can see.
(a look back to 2-8-2005)
We were a small family that day, and the events were hard to bear. Yet, I found unity and love in the basement as I made a tiny humble meal for me and my son, I was happy with very little...the baby in my arms and the baby in my belly with a hard working husband were enough for me. I didn't mind the basement, I didn't care a lick about sleeping in the same room we called our living room, dining room, and play room--it all was just meaningless stuff to me that I happened to have fun rearranging from time to time to see just how spacious I could make a one room apartment look! I found incredible peace that night as I watched Steve and his dad bless my baby in the hospital, in front of the staff. Then, as the days passed, I felt a large dose of love fill the home as my determined 18 month old child begged me to take him upstairs the following morning. I was full of fear to even let him walk, but as soon as we got upstairs, he magically rolled his body out of my arms and hobbled (like a wooden leg pirate) to his grandma's bedroom door. I don't recall even asking to go in; I only recall seeing him give all his effort to climb into bed with her and snuggle for some cuddle time.
My outlet on the night of his accident was my family, my husband. I didn't want to broadcast my event to the world. All I needed was the love of God and the support from my husband as guilt tried to fill me with anger. My support was my God, my husband, and his parents....with the abiding love of the smile on my child's face when we sat together as he drank his chocolate milk from Wendy's late into the night on our little hand me down couch. He ate as fast as he could, and even I was a little teary then; I just looked at him. There was no phone in my hand, ready to post the latest event in the Fultz Family, and that was good. It was good because today, I have memories that are built around being with my family through interaction, not only through space and time.
It's about time we we embrace each day with it's opportunities to be with our families and friends, instead of idolizing them in their perfect lives. It's a good chance to build a foundation of interaction and love that you may need in order to get you through the harder times to come--because as technology gets better, we become more isolated, ironically.
Hug your babies, call your sisters or brothers, and tell your Mom and Dad how great they are through a letter, a phone call, or a surprise visit. Thank God for getting you through your hard days, because let's face it--it wasn't perfect for you or me today.
It's time to be real again.
