The Lesson

It is almost midnight and I am enjoying the peace and quiet that comes with having everyone in the house, except me, asleep.  With this tranquility I am actually able to hear something.  I am able to hear myself think!  This relatively rare moment of being alone with my thoughts (and Jay in a deep slumber beside me!) has made me quite introspective and analytical. 

The reason why I record all the "goings-on" of my family is so I won't forget the daily events that shape the boys' childhoods.  It is my hope that the record of their milestones will some day be a source of great joy and amusement for them and their families.  

But as I sit here tonight I realize that just giving a travelogue of their lives is not enough.  I want my precious sons to know not only that I love and adore them but that I am a person, too.  I'm not just the chief cook and bottle washer or the person who doles out punishment.  I have actual feelings, opinions and hopes for myself irrespective of my responsibilities as a mom.  

I know this is a tall order!  It will undoubtedly be years until this is something they understand. Perhaps it won't happen until they have children of their own.  Hopefully children JUST like them!

It is with this in mind that I share the following story.  It is a departure from my usual posts but is one that I feel is worth telling...not just for me but for my boys.  

I've been pretty good lately. I've been to the gym 4 times this week, despite the boys doing everything in their power to give me an excuse! It seems as though getting there is half the battle!

I feel like I've already gotten my workout by the time I make it to the gym. Owen dislikes wearing a coat almost as much as he dislikes bread.  So before we can get in the van, I put on my workout clothes and a full-on smackdown takes place in our living room...WWF style! I become a WWF mom as I wrestle Owen into a coat. And I truly mean wrestle!  

(My current win/loss record for the week is 3-2.  The 2 losses occurred because the temperature wasn't cold enough to warrant a full on wrestling match!  My cut off point is 32 degrees.)  

So after Owen's defeat, he gets strapped into his car seat (where he can't take off his coat) and proceeds to scream the 2.1 miles to the gym about the indignities of having to wear his coat.  

If that isn't reason enough to NOT go to the gym, than I don't know what is!

After the ear-splitting 2.1 miles, I drag Owen with one arm and use the remaining arm to lug the 8.65 pound car seat carrying the 19.4 pound Kai.  Drew is left to straggle along beside the car seat wondering why he always gets the short end of the stick.  

I must look like a crazed lunatic because on more than one occasion I've had people ask me right there in the parking lot why in the world I would need to go to the gym with 3 boys to run after.  "You've certainly got your hands full!" they say.  Or "3 boys, huh?" Followed by a look of pity or admiration...I can't tell which.

Nevertheless, in to the gym I go to drop the boys in the play center while I sweat out my frustrations on various pieces of equipment.  I plug up my ears with my headphones, listen to music blaring at me from my IPod and tune out everything else.  I never speak to anyone and rarely do I even make eye contact with the various bodies engaged in different workout torture techniques, just feet from me.  

That is the way of the gym.  And that is the way I like it.

But this week I got distracted.  I started noticing a family that was there each time I was.  There is a Mom and Dad and a son who is probably in his early twenties.  The parents are always dressed in ordinary workout clothes with no real unique or noteworthy features (just like the rest of us).  

I only noticed them because the boy is in a wheelchair.  I don't know the nature of his disability or the scope of his limitations.  I just know that he has them.

I know that I'm not supposed to stare but for some reason my eyes would follow them around the gym as they worked.  Because of the size of the gym and abundance of mirrors they were never aware of my looks.  They are also unaware of the profound affect they had on me.

On the fourth day of my observations the family made their usual route around the gym.  As the son was attempting to use the machine with the pulleys (for biceps, chest, etc.) he was suddenly gripped with what I assume was a severe muscle spasm.  This spasm caused his entire upper body to lock down or freeze up.  His hands were rendered useless in the throes of this attack.  

As this boy struggled through what undoubtedly was a painful experience his parents never left his side.  The mom knelt down next to him and cradled his legs and rocked him back and forth.  She placed her head in his lap and smiled and offered soothing words of encouragement.  The father massaged his son's shoulders and patted his head and stroked his cheek.  All the while, the son looked staunchly determined to grip the machine with a hand that just wouldn't cooperate.

For 10 minutes I discreetly watched the family fight their battle against a broken body with smiles on their faces.  In the midst of this struggle they were truly smiling.

I was taken aback.

I looked around at the dozens of people staring in the mirror, sweating away the pounds, and dreaming of looking better in their jeans.  I looked at my well-worn running shoes and thought of how easy it was to run a mile or two and then move on to the bike.

I abruptly dropped my dumbbell and raced to the locker room with tears welling in my eyes.  I quickly hid myself in the dressing room and shut the curtain as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.  

The tears were flowing out of pity.  Not pity for the loving family or the determined boy in the wheelchair, but pity for myself for thinking that I had it rough because my children made it difficult for me to get to the gym that day.  Pity for myself that I have the audacity to resent my body for not being "perfect."  

And shame for a society that doesn't recognize the heroic efforts of ordinary families facing extraordinary challenges.

After I collected myself, I gathered up my children and went home to the daily grind of dinner and dishes and bedtime routine.  But I did so with a bit more clarity and a broader perspective.  I know that everyone has their own battles to fight and demons to conquer.  Some people fight them alone while others are blessed with families to help them face down their foes.

Either way, I was touched by the dedication and love that this family unknowingly displayed to me.  

Will I continue to complain about the sticky floor I have to clean or the tantrums I must endure?  

Probably.....(well, almost definitely).

But for now, I'm happy that I was taught a lesson in the most unlikely of classrooms.  And it is my hope that my sons will some day know that their mother still must be taught just as I (hopefully) am teaching them.