The Family Shield

Back when I was single and lived in Dallas, I volunteered for an organization that provided respite care for babies who were HIV positive. My usual job was to help the paid workers by rocking and feeding babies, but one day I got there and the wonderful lady who ran the organization (whose hands were gnarled with rheumatoid arthritis, and who, I discovered later, had lost a beloved son in a diving accident when he was 16) asked me if I would mind driving one of the kids to his orthopedic appointment at the nearby children's hospital. She handed me the gigantic, heavy, specially modified car seat, and the adorable 3 year old, who had lots of other issues in addition to his HIV status, and pushed us out the door. I managed to wrestle the car seat and the child into the back of my small car. My young charge had casts on both legs and it took me a good little while to get his wiggling, rather heavy body properly clicked in. We got to the hospital, and the parking was impossible--we circled round and round a parking garage looking for an open spot. I heard him suddenly start to giggle (he wasn't verbal but he made happy sounds aplenty) really loudly and I looked in my mirror and HE WAS GONE. GONE. Well, not actually gone. The car seat had come unhooked on one side and had TOPPLED OVER. WITH HIM STILL IN IT. (yes, now that I am married to an attorney, this entire story is even more terrifying. Thank goodness for the statute of limitations.) I somehow managed to exit the parking garage, park in a handicapped space, and get things back to right. I am certain we were late to his appointment. I am also certainly glad I did not break any other of his tiny bones with my negligent car seat installation, or as I carried him and his two leg casts through the miles of labyrinthine hallways to the ortho clinic.

Anyway, I had totally forgotten about this incident, and remembered it one night last week when I had trouble sleeping. I feel like I was better at hard stuff back then.

Which is my segue into Helena's latest project. In second grade at our school, the kids create a family shield to represent things about their family. I never posted Hudson's from last year, so let's do that first:



It was a handsome, heavy wooden buckler, that would actually provide some protection were he to bring it into battle. He painted some of our favorite things on the front, and was all set to present it to his class. That part did not go well. His buckler, nifty as it was, looked nothing like his classmates' shields. He decided this was somehow a bad thing, and went mute when it was his turn to talk about it. I spent several minutes at the back of the little auditorium trying to quietly convince him he really could do it. Alas, he thought otherwise. It was a hard and sad day. But never let it be said we don't learn from set-backs in this family! When the project arrived on Helena's assignment sheet in early November, I suggested a more traditional route. She enjoyed the process greatly, painted this beauty:

 and yet, AND YET, when her teacher called her name to present it, she was UNDONE. The interesting thing is that both kids have done a half dozen other presentations to their classes with no issues. I am not sure why this one is so tragic. Perhaps they are, like their mother, overly sensitive to The General Concept of Battle.

The good news is that everyone has moved on nicely, and we've had a pleasant Christmas break.

Also, I have been feeling more like writing lately, so let's hope that translates into more frequent posting here. Is there such a thing as a Proustian promise?