The conversation to not start out well. It began with, “Is this Elizabeth? Hi! I’m the Vice Principal. There’s been an incident.”  Not awesome.

Apparently Helicopter had been at lunch and punched someone in the back. At first, my instinct was to be angry at him.  Disappointed. But as the vice principal kept speaking, I realized that trouble wasn’t what he set out to do. His intention, his heart, his essence was defending a friend.  A wrong had been committed, and he wanted to fix it. The Vice Principal, in fact, said she had to tell him he wasn’t Batman.

When I looked closer, I realized Batman is EXACTLY who I want him to be.

And that was the small thing. Instead of reacting as I usually do, or how a mom is supposed to react when she learns her son is in a fight, I reacted by seeing his true heart.

After, I wondered how often I only see the action and not the intent. Clearly hitting someone in the back is never the right answer. Clearly there would have to be a long talk. But I, and the Vice Principal, could see this little heart meant well. He just executed exceptionally poorly.

And maybe looking at the heart is a small thing I could do more often. See people’s hearts rather than just their actions. It’s a good a little one.

I adore you!

Day 13 should be tough.  Thirteen and all that.  But this one wasn’t so bad.  My small thing?  I asked for help.

Now this may not even seem like it should be a thing.  In my objective understanding, many people do this all the time.  Not a big deal.  Sadly, it totally is for me.

If you are new to me, you may not know that I suffer from chronic illness.  One of the least fun parts of being always sick,  other than the actual feeling terribly, is that now so much more you need help.  More than ever, one has to rely on those around. 

So what?  Well, for me, this has not been an easy transition. I have gritted my teeth and felt claustrophobic and wanted more than ever to stand alone.  But…simply not to be.

But today,  I WILLINGLY invited someone to help me.

It started yesterday.  Monday.  In our school district, Cricket’s school gets out one hour early every week on Monday for no disclosed reason.  So each week, I am generally discombobulated at about 1:15 when I remember that I am supposed to be picking her up.  (Once, according to legend, I may or may not have actually forgotten her and showed up at the normal time SHOCKED by how few cars were in car line.  Or so the rumor is.  She survived.)

Bu once she got in the car, Cricket was instantly whiny about having to go the zoo with her brother because he had done what she wanted to do on Saturday.   Not off to a good start. 

For the rest of the afternoon, what should have been fun and delightful was grating and painful.  They seemed to be having a great time but I was growing fussier and fussier.  St. Vincent worked late so all during dinner, homework and bedtime I started to like them less and less.  Cute children to the naked eye; underneath an undiagnosed itchy rash of personhood. 

So, after they were tucked away, I thought, “This can’t continue.  In 12 more years, I will be a shell of a woman who has an obvious tick and yells in post offices about how much she hates green.”  I need to fix whatever is broken so the kids and I can work together.

So this morning, I did a small thing.  I asked a delightful wonderful woman who has SIX children who are well adjusted for help.  (Catch that?  She has survived six of these.)  And graciously,  she gave it.  We worked out a plan.  And today, with plan in hand, I feel renewed.

But I wonder, could I use some help elsewhere?  Am I suffering needlessly? I wonder about you.  Any areas in which you could get by with a little help from your friends?

I adore you.