what matters and why

the car

Such a simple solution. For two hours, we assumed it was an unsolvable problem. In the backseat, my eight year old cries. He's not upset with me, or his brother, who is quietly observing with his big brown eyes. He's not hungry, or tired, or hot. He thinks that the situation we have found ourselves in is his fault. I wonder if I am responsible for causing him to think that, but I am distracted by the cell phone. Someone who can help. He lets himself out of the car, and his brother watches him, pacifier in his mouth, eyes half closed. I'm on the phone, attempting to fix what's wrong. I watch him dance around on the sidewalk, up and down the curb.

It makes me remember the time we were walking out of a store, and he turned around to tell me something. He's not looking, and he runs into a security pole. He is immediately angry, wondering why I didn't warn him. I don't smile, even though I want to. I hold him for a second, and he forgets about his face meeting the pole.

The time when I went to pick him up at preschool, and he's in the corner, a devastated look on his face. He runs to me when I walk in, and I hold him. He's only four, and I can still do that. His teacher explains that he received a mark in his folder, an indication that he had not completely behaved during the school day. He was throwing markers with a friend. Wrong time, wrong place. He's so upset. He cries, and doesn't forget his "trouble day" for years. The only time he has caused any kind of disturbance. His worst fear- attracting negative attention to himself.

There he is, this boy who has grown up so fast. Who cries now because the kids at school are mean. Because he's not sure if his clothes and haircut are cool enough.

Every once in a while, he runs to the open window where his brother still sits quietly in his seat. He makes him laugh. He makes a silly face, and sticks out his tongue. When he knows his brother is happy, he dances around again on the curb. He's wondering if it's still his fault. He sees that I'm upset, and he offers to come back in the car. To clean it out? What do I need? He doesn't want me upset. It's not very often that he sees his mom's tears.

It might bring back memories, as it does for me. There were times in the car when I could not hold myself together. He saw me then, he sees me now. He'll do anything to protect me. My face is red, my lips are chapped. My eyes are swollen, and will stay that way for days. It reminds him of the year that I couldn't concentrate on him, even when it was only us in the car. I would just cry. Or concentrate completely on the road. If I didn't, I might have driven straight forever. A turn required all my attention.

And this time, he's concerned that he caused the pain.

Sometimes I wonder what I did so right to have this perfect child.

And what I did so wrong to find myself in this situation. A place I can't seem to get myself out of. Back to the turn.... a load of laundry, a dirty floor. It's like asking me to climb Mt Everest in one evening. I don't have it in me. I just want a blanket and a pillow, and a few childless hours. And when I get that, the tired does not go away. Something so small, a car that won't start, is impossible to deal with. I cry, and I'm not emotional. Sleep is difficult, but completing daily tasks even more.

The solution to the car? Easy. I am humiliated. It was not worth tears, or the drama.

Solution to this place? Not so much.