Project Runway. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. LOVE Tim Gunn. Last week, I had a Project Runway moment of my own. One afternoon, Belle tells me she needs to “talk.” I sat her down, and she relayed to me a story of which I will summarize for you here. It went something like this….
While playing at an 'undisclosed location', one of her little girlfriends got into an altercation (my word, not hers) with a boy. Belle, Ms. Nosey Pants, interjects herself into the midst of said altercation. At some point, the boy becomes aggressive toward the girl, and Supergirl Slaughter, kicked at him—her words, “I barely got him.” At this point I feel the need to interject the fact that while my middle child can fib with the best of them, Belle cannot. Her little conscience just won’t allow it. While I do not live under the false pretence that my six year old is perfect, F-A-A-A-R from, I do know that the child, try as she may, simply can’t successfully lie. Back to the story. After Belle’s ‘barely’ kick, the boy “pushed her to the ground,” causing her elbow to bleed and then…(this is the really good part) “slapped her hard across the cheek.” When she tells me this, her eyes fill with tears, and she grabs me around my neck and won’t let go.
If my blood simmered at the ‘pushed her down’ part, it began to boil violently at the ‘slapping’ part. You know on Project Runway just after the fashion show when all the designers are standing on the runway awaiting their fate and the cameras focus in on Heidi Klum? Well, for a moment, while sitting there holding my weeping child, I became Heidi Klum. My immediate thought was to hunt down this boy and his mother (though I have no idea who they are), line them up, and tell them ever so sharply, yet without the German accent, “We’re going to have a little chat, and when we’re finished, one of you, will be OUT!” I. WAS. FURIOUS. I saw myself on the phone to authority figures, the mayor, the governor, the President. I would have justice for my child somehow, someway! I began to wonder where I could find a pitchfork and burning torch... and a horse. My mind was racing, and then… Belle pulled out of my arms and looked at me with those big blue eyes, waiting for me to speak, and suddenly, I realized... as much as I’d like, I can’t fight every battle that comes her way.
I brushed her hair out of that sweet face, and while I wanted to tell her how Mommy was going to take care of everything, instead, I took her by the shoulders and told her that she should never ever involve herself in conflict. I told her she needed to apologize to the boy in question and promise me that from now on, she would steer clear of others’ clashes. She walked away, still in tears, but with her little heart settled.
I have thought about what happened so much since last week. Not that I’m still mad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d still like to have a little ‘chat’ with this child to talk about how never under any circumstances do boys hit girls!!!!! (pardon the excessive amount of exclamation points in a grammatically incorrect position), but more than that, I keep thinking of how much our Father must hurt when we hurt. How much He must long to rescue us from our every pain and mistake but how sometimes He has to just point us in the right direction, let us learn from what we've done wrong, and say, “Go and do what you know is right.” I love that picture. It is almost inconceivable for me to believe that someone could possibly love my child more than I loved her when I held her there in my arms, but He does. In fact, my love for her 'is like a raindrop to the sea' compared to His. Incredible. And if He didn't vaporize the kid, who I am to take him out? I guess I owe him a thanks. The little incident taught Belle and her Mommy a big lesson. A hard lesson. I can't always come to her rescue. There are battles she must learn to fight without me. But I can try to guide her down the path, maybe not holding her hand, but pointing her in the right direction. And as Tim Gunn would say, just let her "carry on."
4 days ago