I wrote a while back about how my town works when crisis hits. How friends, neighbors and strangers come out of the woodwork to make life happen while those inflicted with temporary – or life altering – chaos contemplate the next few hours, days, weeks, and months.
Listen folks: my kid broke his arm. Snapped it in half, right above the elbow. It was nasty, gross and made his dad gag, but he’s not the first kid to snap a bone, and he’s certainly not the last. His sports season is over, skiing kaput, and he’s panicked about recess kickball.
These are great problems to have. I LOVE these problems.
When we were in the hospital and he’s chillin’ on morphine, and asks, “You think I’ll get presents?”
To which I reply adamantly: “Nope. No way. Skull fractures and cancer gets presents, you get time off from school and a cast.” (Okay, probably not my best parenting moment…. more to come no doubt.)
But then my town happened, as it always does. I expect it for crisis, but I didn’t expect it for me. For us. For a nasty break, but ridiculously, embarrassingly healthy family. My mistake.
Lots of love through this blog, emails, voicemails, and texts. All read to #4. Visits with movies, candy, cards, and ice cream. Cupcakes to die for. A fancy, beautiful fruit arrangement arrives addressed to my broken armed kid. With a balloon.
Forget the morphine. My town offers the best rehab for what ails you. Thanks. It does take a village to heal a child, and calm an anxious mom.