I’ve been, naturally, thinking about the whole thankfulness concept, and what, in particular am I thankful/grateful for right now. I was reminded of the mess we went through with child #4 starting when he was about a year old. He had allergies, serious ones: to cats, cockroaches, and dust mites. When I say serious, I mean serious.
His skin was literally falling off in quarter and half-dollar sized chunks, like something out of an Austin Powers movie. In the creases of his knees and elbows the skin would crack and bleed. He itched ferociously, and we would wrap him in gauze to try and stop him from scratching. When I took him to the pediatrician, he (the Dr.) was so impressed by #4’s skin that he took photos of it to show at a convention (yay!… Not really, no).
The Dr. and I decided on a shotgun treatment: throw everything we can think of at the allergy in hopes that something works. That didn’t quite do the trick. When #4 was two, we were referred to a pediatric dermatologist in Atlanta. He was also sent to a pediatric allergist in Montgomery- a 70 yr old Southun Gentleman wearing a bowtie and in possession of a pocket full of suckers. Between the salves and other remedies prescribed by the dermatologist, not to mention the series of allergy shots (normally not started on a two-year old, but he was really, really in need of them), by the time #4 was five, his skin was clearing up. When we moved to Statesboro, we located another allergist, who tested him again and said his allergies were gone, the shots worked.
So… Medical Science… It’s a good thing. My son still has scars on the backs of his knees, where the skin cracked open, but the rashes, the horrible bleeding raw spots, the crying all night from itching, are over. What I have now is a happy, clear-skinned, long-legged eight-year old boy, who doesn’t remember the misery, puts his underpants on backwards, and dumps too much Ovaltine in his milk.
Truth is, there’s been SOMETHING wrong with each of our kids. #4 had his allergies. #3 had ADD, and had to repeat a grade. #2 was constantly sick with sinus and throat infections from the time he was 3 months old until he was four – allergies were also to blame, but we weren’t in a financial position to do much about it, other than remove the carpet and give him Benadryl (fortunately, it actually worked).
We also found a doctor who was sensible. You see, the first one we took him to told us he (#2) was mentally retarded and needed to be institutionalized, because we would not be able to care for him adequately. That’s when I found a new doctor who told us to take out the carpet. Much nicer than an institution for the retarded, dont’cha think? When we got rid of the carpet and replaced the drywall (there was six inches worth of mouse and roach poo inside the walls, lovely, huh?), two days later #2 woke up in the morning laughing and smiling. He’d never done that before. #1 was no trouble as a tot, in fact, until he was 13 or so, he was the Model Child. Then he spent the next 5 years making up for it, until we gave him the boot and he was on his own. I’m still not over all that yet.
Besides having something seriously wrong with him though, each kid has given us his own brand of Fun. It has made me recognize a good time when I see it, and be thankful for it. And now that the kids are coming into their own selves, the kind that I really want to sit down and have a good meal with, or spend time playing a game of chess, or listening to clips of their music if they’ll listen to mine, I am especially grateful.
I know that down the road something else will happen. Like isn’t all sunshine and cookies, and there’s a lot of it ahead. But I know we’ll be able to handle the next thing that comes along, and the thing after that. Because by the grace of God, we’ve done it before.
Besides the kids, I am grateful for something as obvious as my senses. Here’s why:
1.I can feel the caress of a breeze on my skin, and it doesn’t hurt. I have a friend with a nerve disorder, and the slightest touch on her face is agonizing. Even a breeze, or a feather causes her to bend over and call out in pain. That I can feel a kitten’s tail on my cheek, or the warm thud of a shower on my shoulders, that I can enjoy the silky texture of a creme brulee, or the rough scrub of a bristle brush underneath my nails, I am thankful for these.
2.I can smell the smoke of a neighbors fireplace, and the sweet-tart scent of cranberries popping open in orange juice in a pot on the stove. I adore the salty stink of a grubby eight year old boy who’s been outside getting sweaty, and the delicate sweetness of an iris just opened in the garden. I like the smell of freshly turned soil, in a field to be planted, and the aroma of a steak being grilled. Bread, chocolate, and coffee all make me smile. That I can smell the sharp odor of burning wires, warning me of danger, to turn off the car and get out. I have a little trouble being thankful for the excess of perfume I sometimes encounter, but I suppose even that sensitivity is a blessing, because it keeps me from inflicting the same discomfort on others.
3.I can see. I need help to do it, but I can see. The perfection of a Comte du Champagne rose, pale honey colored, in a vase with a sprig of ivy, the sunlight through the blue glass bottles on my windowsill, the silly behavior of the dogs in the backyard, are all good things to see. Because I can see, I can read the music on the piano, and drive a car, and sew a new dress. I can go to my kids school plays and see them in their Sunday best. I can watch the ground, and not trip over things, I can read a recipe and cook something tasty, I can look in the mirror and fix my hair. All good things that sight allows. I can even read the little screen on my iPod, and choose some music to listen to.
4. I can hear, all sorts of things. The screech of a cat when I step on it’s tail (that I didn’t see, of course!), the boiling over of a pot of rice on the stove, the thunderous opening of Carmina Burana, all good things to hear. I can hear the brakes on my car scrub, and know that they need new pads. I can hear the shouting and splashing of my kids in the pool on a hot summer day, and the tablesaw of a distant neighbor who’s doing improvements. I hear my dogs bark when a stranger approaches the house, and the soft slap of bread dough on the counter. I hear the *snick* of a bolt sliding a cartridge home, the *kaPOW* of a rifle shot, and the clatter of a shattered clay hitting the ground. I hear the shower in the morning, telling me I have 5 more minutes before I have to get up. The afternoon timer tells me it’s time to pick my son up from Chess Club, and his chatter all the way home tells me he is a comfortable and secure boy. I think my favorite sound of all is that of the boys, up in one room or maybe in the game room, laughing and talking, discussing ideas and sharing the ‘oh-shit’ moments. The ring of the phone, the sound of a beloved’s voice, the rumble of laughter, the soft sweet nothings in my ear…good things to hear.
5. I love the taste of things (well, besides the taste of, like liver). I love the tart crunch of fresh pomegranates, apples, and pears. The smooth, warm flavor of chocolate is something I reserve as a now-and-then kind of treat, something special for private celebrations. Warm fresh bread, right out of the oven and slathered with an obscene amount of real butter. Pungent garlic, sauteed in olive oil and tossed with pasta, a sandwich made with salty peanut butter and sweet, homemade plum preserves…yum, y’all. Yum. Nasty flavors are important to me as well. They let me know that the can of tuna I opened has spoiled, or that the milk has been in the fridge a day or two longer than it should. They keep you healthy, those nasty flavors, keep you from food poisoning and spoiled vegetables (of course, that doesn’t explain turnip greens – they taste terrible even if you pick them and cook them on the spot).
So, I’m thinking I’ll sit in the breeze by an open window, enjoy the aroma of cranberries and the sound of the neighbor’s saw. I’ll watch a kitten go spastic with a jinglebell, and contemplate the creamy, garlicky mashed potatoes I’m fixing for supper tonight. Because I can. And I am thankful. Today.