I Watched her fall...

A couple of months ago, there was the odd day in February that was unusually warm. My baby was getting to be a more confident walker, and we decided to go out on the front porch and wait for her big brother to come home from school. Within a few minutes, his carpool arrived and dropped him off. Miriam saw him and with the most precious excitement in her face, started to walk to him, not bothering to notice that the porch steps -- made of concrete -- were in her way.

TJ (her big brother) and I noticed. We watched her fall. It was almost a miracle what a good fall it was. Her body sort of rolled into the gravity, and somehow her head managed to miss the corner of the concrete, and her cry for help was mostly from being startled rather than in pain. I picked her up, brushed her off, and she didn't even think twice about it. She just looked around for that big brother and got the hug from him that she had endangered her life for!

Just the other day I pulled the van into my usual spot to wait for my girls to come out from the school. Sure enough, they saw me and started running -- what a good feeling for a mom! They want to be with me! They're excited to come home! One was running a little faster and didn't notice when her sister behind her tripped on her flip-flops.

I noticed. I watched from there in the driver's seat, and maybe would have stayed there had it just been a little trip. But it wasn't little. It was one of those bad falls. Her shin slid against the ground, her knee whacked into the cement, her arm got scraped up to her elbow, and then her head hit, twisting her neck at an I-need-a-chiropractor-angle, scraping her up above her temple.

I jumped out of the van and ran to her and knelt down beside her. She was crying, holding her head and grabbing her knee. She melted into my arms and let me hold her and I let her cry. I almost cried myself. I asked to check for blood, and we determined that the scrapes were bad enough to need band-aids, but that she could ride home without flooding the van with blood. Bless her heart.

She recovered more quickly than I guessed she would, and allowed me to help her up. We wobbled over to the van together and I helped her climb in. At home, she asked for her sister's old crutches from a year ago when she broke her leg. Although I knew it wasn't really that bad, I let her enjoy the moment and squeeze a little adventure into a sad experience.

Can we make a metaphor out of this? We all trip up in life. Sometimes it's because of a poor choice of shoes; sometimes it's because of not noticing the obstacles before us. It seems like a double-whammy when its related to over-excitement and throwing caution to the wind. Some falls are "good falls" and we don't hardly get hurt -- maybe our pride... Some falls require a little more attention and love to help smooth over the pain. My role as a mom is to be there for my falling little ones, whatever the circumstances, and help them up. Help them carry on. Help them feel love in the midst of the owies. Bandage them up and provide crutches if need be. And sometimes even if it's not really needed. Make sure they get the hugs they were willing to risk their lives for! And remind them that the owies will heal.