Marriage Moats-Bouncing Balls

Published: Sun, 05/29/11

Marriage Moats

Caring for Marriage

I bought some special rubber balls for my children. Half of the ball bounces enthusiastically and the other half thuds. It is funny to watch the contrast of what happens with what you expect when you hurl it across the floor. To be fair, neither half is broken. In some circumstances, it is very convenient to fling in the opposite direction at a speed comparable to the one you started with. In other contexts, however, it can be helpful to not react.

I am worthless in emergencies. If one of our grown children has totaled a car, the person to call is their father. Talking to me only adds to the upset.

Once my baby had a febrile seizure while his sister was babysitting. She was only 16, old enough for routine sibling control. But on this hot August day she saw her little brother looking glassy and lethargic in a way that made her panic. She yelled to her brother to call the doctor. He went to Benjamin's long list of doctors and dialed... the dentist. The receptionist said to try 911. They came quickly and assessed Benjamin's condition.

"Are you his mother? " they asked my daughter.

"No! I am his sister!" she cried.

Another EMT questioned her as well, "Are you this baby's mother?"

"No, his mother isn't here, I am the sister."

"Well, you are coming in the ambulance with us," they commanded.

So she climbed into the back of the ambulance with Benjamin and roared down the street just as John came driving up.

He wondered who on our little cul-de-sac was in the emergency vehicle, and calmly drove into our driveway.

"Chara and Benjamin are in that ambulance!" the rest of the kids yelled.

John got back in the car and drove safely after them, until they sped ahead and were out of sight. He drove to the nearest hospital and asked where his children were but was told no ambulance carrying a baby and young girl had arrived in the last few minutes. He stayed calm. They called to other hospitals and found he had been taken to a larger hospital instead. Again, without bouncing, John got in the car and drove to the second hospital where he found Benjamin and Chara being cared for in the ER.

When I arrived home a few minutes later, the remaining children rallied around me and told me to sit down.

"What do you mean sit down!? What happened??" I screamed.

"Mom, we are not going to tell you where Chara and Benjamin are until you calm down." they warned.

I started ricocheting around the room.

"I am calm!! Where are they??? What happened??" I was out of control.

When they were schnookered into thinking I could drive safely they told me what had happened and I somehow made it to the right hospital and, without benefit of cell phones, finally connected with John and our children.

Such a reactive personality flaw can be a nuisance when children are bleeding or lost. When Hosanna was three and we all went to the Rose Bowl Parade in California, she responded quickly when I said it was over and it was time to go home. She started walking, as I was packing up the blankets and snacks. By the time I went looking for her she was trapped in a sea of taller people. Not skilled at truly helpful responses, I started screeching her name. Ironically, at the end of the parade, evangelists swell in with signs saying "The end is near! Jesus is coming!" So when people heard my cries of "Hosanna!" they thought, "Another fanatic."

The policeman did not find my information beneficial either, when he asked for a description of the lost child and I gushed about how cute she is in her little pink shoes and how much I need her.

There are other times, however, when my reaction adds to the excitement. When Benjamin was three and had still not spoken, one day he started writing words with cookies. Before my unbelieving eyes, he wrote "Miracle on 34th street." I went berserk. I threw cookies and pretzels all over the room, I shouted, danced, hugged him and called everyone I could think of. Benjamin was perplexed by all the fanfare, unaware that a non verbal child writing sentences was noteworthy.

I am glad there are two of us. Sometimes we feel like the losing couple in a three legged race on the Fourth of July, tripping and chaffing our ankles. But other times, we settle into a rhythm that frees us to lean on each other in one motion, and swing for all we are worth with the other. We may not be winning the race but we are having fun.

Photo by Chara Odhner

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