Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Tiny Hands

Finally...A pair of jeans that fit the growing boy. 
She was so happy!
She was so relieved...
She was so...tired of shopping for jeans that would fit him for only 6 months until the 7-year-old boy outgrew the denim. Nothing seemed to fit that day but these jeans!


That same Sunday evening she and her young family watched the Pittsburg Steelers play. But the growing boy was no where to be found. She went to the bottom of the old stairwell - 


"The game is on!........." 


5 MINUTES LATER - 


"Steelers are playing!!.........."


5 MINUTES LATER - 


"Are you coming down to watch the game??" 


She climbed the stairs, careful not to mess up the greenery and ornaments she'd spent well over an hour placing. 


Then she opened his bedroom door...


There he was, sitting on the edge of his bed with her best kitchen scissors, maticulously cutting holes into the brand new jeans she had spent all day searching for.


He was shredding the jeans.


And the young mother lost it, yelling at the growing boy. How dare he ruin the perfectly-fitting jeans she had spent all day trying to find for him? She bought those at Sears - did he even care that they cost $14.00?!


And then she grabbed the scissors from his little hands.


And she told him how much those jeans cost and how now - after he had ruined them, trying to look like the "older, cool" kids in school - he will never be able to wear them anywhere but the barn. 


She made him put on his little jammies. And told him how much the growing boy had disappointed her that night. 






And his big,  blue eyes cried. 


And her green eyes cried, harder. 






And the young mother, so ashamed of how she lost her temper on the growing boy, sat in the stairwell. And took a big, deep breath. Still so upset about how irresponsible he acted, she put the sad, growing boy to bed. 


And down the quiet steps she tiptoed, with tears on her cheeks and a heart beating a hundred miles an hour. Simply put, she was angry. 


She noticed the rest of the family had gone to bed. The TV was off. The family room was empty. 


Sad, she thought, for a December evening. 


So she walked around the home and unplugged all Christmas lights, shivering because of how cold the her husband kept the house, then tiptoed back up the steps. 


"UUUGGGHHHH. I cannot believe he shredded those jeans!," She thought to herself. "How Selfish, that boy."


Until something fell. 


Off the main tree. 


Next to the steps - - - it almost sounded like a mouse!


The young mother went back down the stairwell, hit the tile, then the carpet.


"I don't have time for this," she thought as the looked at the old clock that hung over the mantle: 10:47pm.


But sure enough, she found an ornament laying on the ground - it had fallen from the tree. 


She rolled her eyes - It was just an old play-doough ornament from one of the kids; obviously too heavy to hang on the artificial tree.


The young mother re-hooked the ornament. Re-hung it. And started back up the stairs. 



Until something fell, off the main tree, next to the steps - - - it almost sounded like a mouse!

The young mother went back down the stairwell, hit the tile, then the carpet.

"I don't have time for this," she thought as the looked at the old clock that hung over the mantle: 10:49 pm.

But sure enough, she found an ornament laying on the ground - the same ornament. 

The young mother studied it. 

It was a handprint, a tiny one. 




His name was etched on the front. 

And she turned it over. 

And on the back, secured with paste, were the following words: 

My Handprints
Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am very small
And always leave my fingerprints,
On furniture and walls.
But everyday I'm growing . . .
I'll be all grown-up someday,
And all the tiny fingerprints
Will surely fade away.
So here's a real hand print
Just so you can recall,
Exactly how my fingers looked
When I was very small.

With a big tear running down the young mother's face, she hung that tiny ornament, feeling as though it weighed 100 lbs., back onto the tree. And she sat there in front of the tree in the middle of the dimly lit room and cried for a bit. Or, maybe an hour. She laid back and looked up at the ceiling, the one that the Christmas tree lights had brought to life. The young mother folded her hands and rested them across her stomach. 

"These are the moments," she said to her sad self. "One day he'll be grown and I'll ask this boy's wife to have patience," the young mother thought. 

Patience, she remembered. 

Patience she asked for.

Funny, the life lessons Christmas ornaments can teach. 

2 comments:

  1. Hmm..this reminds me of someone. Merry Christmas!

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  2. I have that sweet poem and Eli and Ethans handprints hanging next to the mirror in my closet. They made them in preschool. Bawled my eyes out when eli brought his home. Daily reminder to not sweat the small stuff. Thanks Lindsay.

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