Skunked

As I near my driveway, I am alarmed to see a truck with the word "SHERIFF" emblazened on the side. A moment later, I decode the words "Animal Control Officer," as well. Before my mind has time to run through the list of possible scenarios, G comes racing toward me (and my still-moving vehicle), clad in pj's and bare feet. As I get out of the car, he excitedly announces, "I go to dee baf-room! I go to dee baf-room!" (His best friend's mom is trying to potty train him. I am not on board yet, being eight months pregnant and busily trying to finish our last month of schooling.)
I grab him before he runs into the street to give his report to more passers-by, and we make our way to the backyard, where the "sheriff", neighbors and the rest of our family have gathered.
Soon, it becomes apparent that a skunk has made its way into our empty chicken coop (the hens haven't come in yet for the evening.) He is now trapped, having somehow survived a close-range shot from our neighbor's crossbow. The AC officer intermitently strategizes with Clint and visits with his friends, our crossbow-owning neighbors. (They run the local animal shelter and are apparently on friendly terms with Mr. AC). I thought AC officers came, trapped little critters, then took them away for you.
One hour later, and watching through the window with my little ones, I conclude it is not so simple a process. Finally, as we are finishing up with our nightly prayer and scripture reading, an overpowering stench wafts through through the house and we see Mr. AC carrying a body bag out to his truck.
I put the children to bed, showing them this picture before kissing them all good night. (WARNING: This isn't the bloodiest picture ever, but you may want to skip it just the same.)
(Actually, the one they saw wasn't this gruesome, but I'm sure it still led to some pretty sweet dreams.) Then, I head downstairs where my husband - who has now been outside with skunkie for over 2 hours - comes in. The scent is overpowering, so he obligingly leaves his clothes in the garage and bee-lines it for the shower. (This is reportedly the second streak of the evening; the first occurring just before I came home when G came outside and announced his feat with the potty the first time.)
He goes to the grocery store for me (this guy knows how to pamper a pregnant wife!), we watch a great documentary ("Paper Heart"), and then go to bed. I am occasionally awakened by the need to dry heave; pregnancy super-smell mixed with skunk spray all around and in our house apparently does that to me.
And I hope for a little less adventure tomorrow. :)

Watching My Baby Fall

Yesterday afternoon, Gabriel gave me quite a scare. Autumn needed some motivation cleaning her room, so I toted Gabe upstairs, set the gate up on the landing, and started cleaning other rooms. Sometimes, all she needs is some company to get moving. I was a little nervous about the gate; it's one of those wooden, expandable Evenflo ones with four rubber stoppers that push up against whatever surface you set them on. Anyhow, I could only get 3 stoppers on surfaces, because of the floor moldings. It seemed pretty sturdy, but I still watched and distracted Gabe when he got too close. While I was cleaning my room, I saw that he was right next to the gate. He leaned against it and I yelled, "NO, Gabe!" I came toward him, but was two steps too late. He put the full weight of his body on the gate and it came crashing down. I watched in horror as he fell face-down on one stair, and then flipped over. His feet hit a stair, followed by a nasty blow to the back of his head. I was screaming loudly now, and his eyes locked on mine. The look on his face was pure panic (likely a reflection of my own), but there was nothing I could do to help. He flipped again, landing when the wood floor crashed against the back of his head in a loud THUD. Somehow, I was over the fallen gate and to him in a second. He lay still, fully conscious, and screaming wildly. I wanted so badly to lift him in my arms and cradle him. But, since he just lay there, I didn't dare move him.

A lot happened immediately afterwards (phone calls to 911 & Clint; Micah clearing out the entryway; Jonah running to get my sweet neighbor Melisa). There was the arrival of people after people, all crowded in our tiny entryway around my tiny angel. He soon was moving his limbs and turning his head. It was decided that we should still take him to the hospital to be examined, and we did. He was concerned about the ambulance ride (and more concerned about the ambulance driver). We got through the CT scan without sedation or too much restraint. The results were normal; and, amazingly, he only has a tiny raspberry on the side of his forehead to show for the ordeal.

But watching him fall like that, and being so powerless in stopping it, has me reflecting on parenthood. So many thoughts rushed through my mind in the instant that it happened. Broken bones, injuries, brain damage, the unthinkable. But I could do nothing. Well, sure, if I was the calmer sort, I would have thought to pray. Yet, I still could not stop or even soften the fall. In the Emergency Room, I told Clint I know we will experience this again. Sometime in his future. We will watch him figuratively fall, waiting to comfort, console & help him at the bottom. It's part of life, right? I've come to love each of my children so dearly; watching them suffer is nearly unbearable. And yet, I feel an approach to divinity in the experience. I am fairly certain that God does not scream wildly as He watches His children stumble and fall, in sin and hardship. And, unlike me, He knows what outcomes await at the bottom of our personal stairs. But I cannot believe His heart doesn't ache for us; that He does not yearn to help and soothe and comfort. I know I have felt such compassion from Him many times along my way.

I am glad to be a mother. I am grateful for the experience. And I trust He will strengthen me so I can help the little ones He has sent me.

here he is, playing with Clint's scarf while we waited for the doctor