But they have their moments. Not usually at bedtime, or when they have lots of math problems to do, or when I ask for help with laundry, but occasionally some smidge of a lesson on the golden rule will tickle the right part of their brain at the moment it is needed. Yesterday, I was the one that needed that moment.
I ran upstairs to take the shower I should have managed before they all awoke and descended on the morning. They'd had breakfast. They were dressed. Two were outside in the chilly November pre-winter dirt. An assortment of plastic dinosaurs were apparently to be excavated that morning. The snotty nosed archaeologists were already hard at work. My oldest was in the living room. He was puppeteering a quiet conversation between two transformer toys, completely engrossed in their riveting discourse. Ben was doing loops through the house. He scooched from the kitchen to the dining room to the living room and repeated, stopping every few feet to pull something off a shelf before continuing.
His ensuing clutter would take an hour to clean, not counting the mud the kid scientists would trek in later, or their pajamas still in a pile on the living room floor. Ben had already grabbed his brother's long underwear and was trailing it solemnly behind him on his journey. Everybody appeared both busy and not in immediate danger for their lives.
It was a perfect time for mom to shower.
I hurried through my daily ablutions - they're a lot more simple than they used to be before children were my life - and was just opening the steamy bathroom when I heard the front door open. I peered down the stairs. No, it wasn't one of the archaeologists. Gavin stood in the doorway with his 22 month old brother clasped in a bear hug. Both were dressed warmly with hats coats and mittens. Ben even had on a puffy vest. The six year old looked up at me.
"I'm taking Ben out to play, Mom. He wants to and it's good for him to get outside you know."
"Uh... Yeah... You're right, Son... Did you get all those winter clothes on him?" I asked the stupid question. Obviously the toddler hadn't zipped himself into a coat. I was pretty sure I hadn't been involved either.
"Yup. We'll be out front." He backed out the door with his 20-odd pound load dangling at his knees.
I stood there dripping for a moment.
Then I hurriedly threw on some clothes and ran to the front door to check the scene.
The archaeologists were still busy with bulldozers in the driveway.
And the six year old was crouching by the almost 2 year old in front of the porch. Ben was happily ramming a toy tow truck over the crunchy old leaves on the walkway as Gavin piled more of them within his reach. I smiled and shook my head in wonder.
I know the boys generally like having each other for playmates. It is handy to have a younger brother when you need someone to be a bad guy, or hold the toy nail that you want to hammer, or have an accomplice that you can point to when Mom frowns at you. But brothers are also in the genre that you can ignore if they serve no purpose in your immediate game plan. I found it odd. My naturally egotistical six year old was going so out of his way to make a special play date with this little fellow human.
They played for nearly an hour. They visited at the excavation site at the end of the driveway. When I next peeked out, Ben was throwing the soccer ball and Gavin was dutifully chasing and returning it. Ben chortled delightedly.
I forget often that Ben has Spina Bifida. He has limitations, but so do all my children based on their age and natural proclivities. Still, when I do consider his differences, it is often with a sigh. I do wish he could toddle with the other toddlers. I wish he could feel his feet. I ache to think of the future when he will realize he is different, when kids will tease him, when potty training is uncertain, when he isn't chosen to play tag and his peers run off and leave him behind. Certainly, God has made him this way for a reason, and it is good. I know that. But I don't see the future, and I don't know why He did it. So, in my limited view of the big picture, his handicaps make my mommy heart hurt.
But was it the fact that his little brother was handicapped that made the six year old's heart soft? I saw them giggling together through the window. Through tears. And my mommy heart broke again. In thankfulness. The helplessness of the little one encouraged a strength in the bigger one. And I hadn't had to force it out of him.
I didn't plan to be thankful for the handicaps of my baby today.
But for the love it brought out of my older son, I was suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation.
They came in, cheeks flushed rosy. Eyes bright. I picked a crackly leaf off Gavin's hat. And hugged him.
"Thank you." I said, sincerely.
"He likes it." He answered nonchalantly, shrugging out of his coat. And leaving it in a heap on the floor. Ah, there's the boy I know.
"Pick it up." I commanded.
I wasn't planning to be particularly grateful yesterday. It just sneaked up and smacked me by surprise. Apparently, God uses disabled little brothers to make men of big brothers, and the big brothers make Mommy thankful for the little brother's disability. For the first time, really.
And I got to shower in peace.
I am blessed.
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