No Hat But One

I often feel like the peddler in Caps for Sale, walking carefully through life, trying to keep all my hats aligned on top of my head.  I often feel like he's far more successful than I am!  The caps I wear always seem to be falling off; and just as soon as I chase after one and get it planted firmly in its place, another two or three roll off in various directions and leave me scrambling to contain them.

But every once in a while--in a very great while--all of life narrows to an extremely sharp focus, and I only have to wear one hat.

Times of birthing babies are like that, as are times of moving, and so are times of sickness.  I can relinquish other responsibilities, knowing that at that certain moment in time, all I have to do is think about my one objective.

This afternoon was a time like that.  My darling Shavi was sick, and suddenly all the hats flew from my head, and I didn't chase them.  All the hats, that is, except one:  Mommy to Shav.

I was no longer Chauffeur for Josiah--my dad graciously stepped in and gave him a ride to choir practice.

I was no longer Entertainment Coordinator for David and Tobin--I let them watch a movie from the library and didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt about them having screen time, rather than doing something more productive.

I was no longer Library-Book-Returner--we can do that another day.

I was no longer Grocery-Shopper--the salad I had wanted to buy ingredients for and make for supper wasn't necessary.

I was no longer Cook--Jeff willingly helped piece together our supper when he got home from work.

I was no longer Laundress--the load of laundry that was soaking in a bleach solution in the washing machine just sat there.

I was no longer Homeschool Teacher--all the record-keeping and planning and book-reading, etc. that I wanted to do got pushed to the side.

I was no longer Bill-Payer--when I saw our monthly Samaritan Ministries newsletter come in the mail, I was determined to got on the ball and send our share today, but that didn't happen.

I was no longer Housecleaner or Paperwork-Organizer or Egg-Washer or Trampoline-Jumper or Email-Answerer or Party-Planner or anything else.  I was just Mommy to Shav, holding him on my lap, feeling so sorry for his discomfort, catching his vomit, cleaning him up, kissing his sweaty head, watching the cars going by outside our window and telling him what colors they were, praying that his sickness was just a little virus of some sort and not anything more serious.

I wrote "just Mommy to Shav," but the "just" doesn't really belong there.

I know that what I was doing--that one little ol' solitary hat I was wearing--was the most important thing I could possibly have been doing in those moments.

And now, knowing well that Shav might need me during the night, I'd better put on my Sleeper hat so I can get a little rest before the Mommy to Shav hat gets placed on my head once again!