Mother's Day and Creepy Crawlers

Yes, it's Mother's Day on Planet Earth. I say it that way because most origin myths refer to the Earth as "Mother" since it is from Mother Earth's largesse that life-giving sustenance springs. In an interesting twist, many origin myths attribute things not Earth-bound--the air or the heavens, for instance--to a mother's opposite, i.e., Father. Without having a huge knowledge base on this topic, I'm gonna climb out the analytical limb and take a swing at this one and guess that the rains that fall from the heavens are the literal sperm necessary for Mother Earth to fertilize the eggs we, her children, have always needed in order to survive. Can any of you "in the know" tell me if I'm close?

Humans with much greater insight, native intelligence, and fewer distractions have expanded on this theme many thousands of years before I emerged from my own mother some 47 years and 24 days ago.  My eldest son entered this life 21 years and 33 days ago after being surgically extracted from his mother's womb. My youngest child has been alive 2,842 days thanks to his mother, my wife, who had also given birth to a gorgeous baby girl 2,482 days before he was.* These numbers, while we tend not to pay too close attention as we go about our lives, are nevertheless the accounting over one's lifetime that transcends--even in this jaded, gilded age--the "other" numbers that we often use mistakenly to measure one's "value" like the car we drive, the size of the house, how much hatred we have for a socialist President (because Lord knows there's nothing like a government that suddenly focuses too much on the group of people historically abused, denigrated, and denied access to full acceptance as human beings to unleash the wrath of (white) people scorned), where we vacation, whether the wife has had a boob job, the price spent on expensive things that some like to "mention in passing" because they're dicks, etc. 

In reality, we value most, in a broad sense, our relationships with other humans beings. When one of our incredible cars is smashed up in an accident, our instinct--even in this jaded, gilded age--is not to worry about the vehicle itself but the health and well-being of its occupants. Losing a vehicle is an expense, an inconvenience, more paperwork for some actuary to increase everyone's insurance rates; however, as many times as I complain about our society and many of its denizens, most of it deserved in my humble opinion, I also realize that most people are decent and well-meaning even when their words betray their fears, masked by racist rhetoric they overheard at the most recent Klan rally, Tea Bag BBQ, elementary school PTA meeting, wherever it's "safe" for the like-minded to vent their spleen at the "cause of our failures" as a country. (I know I'm on another tangent, but it's 3:55 AM). 

Then again, when I rewind the tape sitting between my ears, much of the recent health care debate was about money and those most vociferously opposed to a workable solution were apparently unconcerned that an estimated 44,000 Americans human beings were dying unnecessarily because of the lack of access to regular, affordable care. Funny, the same kind of folks have similar feelings regarding the loss of human life in wartime, even toward our own soldiers because "that's what they're paid to do." OK, I'm NOT referring to those folks, because they are decidedly not decent, nor compassionate, and are pricks, basically. And I'm lumping many corporations in the "don't give a shit" group because the majority of working people who don't (or didn't) have health care were due to indirect corporate cutbacks in compensation to average workers, i.e., executives always have incredible health care benefits that are a part of their compensation package but the same consideration is often not extended to the workers themselves. Can you see why I have so many problems with the "American" way of life?*

"How many kids do you have?" "How old are they?"  "Was anyone hurt?"  "Oh no, that's awful to hear! How old was he?" "How many Iraq tours has he/she made?" "When is he/she coming home?"    These are the questions that get to the heart of "values". My grandmother told me that the WORST thing that ever happened to her was burying a child. And the "child" was around 50 when she suddenly passed. In "Saving Private Ryan", it was Ryan's mother to whom General Marshall was writing his letter, because there is the clear recognition that in general mother's have a special bond with their children, apparently the result of having to lug that extra weight around for 4-5 months as the fetus grows inside her. I'm not exactly sure why it is, but it is. I'm sorry to say that my own mother and I have had a combative relationship, apparently ever since I decided to hang around the birth canal a bit longer than she found tolerable that long day some 47 years and 24 days ago. But, I still love her. Because she's my mom. Thankfully, she's still here, on Mother Earth and not in the ether, the domain of Male deities and rain.  

So, in honor of Mother's Day and, specifically, the mother's of little boys, I have to share this true happening. Several days ago, I awoke early and in a cold sweat, trembling. My sugar had crashed which means my blood glucose (sugar) levels had dropped below the point that my body determines to be "safe", i.e. hypoglycemia. It is potentially a fatal condition because your heart will stop working if the body doesn't get sugar into its system. Unfortunately, the liver releases the hormones that cause the "fight or flight" response in the brain which means you feel as if your going to jump out of your skin. 

"This is important why?", you ask.  As I sat in the den in my panicked state, sweating profusely and shoveling food into my maw, my wife came tearing into the kitchen, feathers in a serious ruffle.--

"I knew it would happen! There's something in the closet under some of the clothes! It's moving around and it's HUGE!!!" 

The usually deaf 14-year old, my step-daughter, comes flying into the kitchen, top speed, "Where is it? Did you kill it!?" 

"NO! I couldn't see what it was! I was looking for my shoes and something moved!!!" Looking at me, "I told you this would happen!" 

(Some background: The contractor working on our house had removed some of the wall in the upper corn er of our bathroom to see if water was still leaking from the roof. A quarter-sized hole to the outside world was visible, the apparent entryway for the "huge" vermin now in the closet.) 

I tried to assure her that it was nothing of the sort, but I was in no condition to move let alone go hunting for a raccoon or possum or mouse or whatever the hell it was.

The 14-year old volunteers to get her mom's shoes because they were late leaving for school/work. She returns in about 2 seconds flat,

"I saw it move! I'm gonna go in there with a cane and get your shoes! Oooooh, this is so creepy!!!"  About 2 seconds after that, she has the idea to "send in the cat" like we do when the occasional field mouse gets inside the house. 

She runs back into the kitchen, still clutching the cat, "I don't want Lillie to get hurt! Plus, I heard it making noises! This is SOOOOO creepy!!! What do you think it is?!" 

I struggled to answer, my sugar-starved brain affecting my speech and thought processing. Eventually, I said something but I don't remember what it was, but I think it was something like "leave me alone for now, I can't think or maintain my composure very well at this very instant!" 

Both victims of the creepy-crawly in the clothes were still very excited, my wife angry at me, the contractor, the fact that clothes were on the floor of the closet, PLUS she was running late...

When into the kitchen strolled "the creepy-crawly"...our 7-year old son, who was giggling. It was the same sound his sister heard while he was HIDING IN THE CLOSET in an effort to startle his mom as she was leaving for work!!! Luckily for him, his sister didn't follow through with her plan to hit the HUGE, noisy "thing" with my cane. Everyone, even me in my stupor, were able to have a good laugh at the whole incident. 

On that note, Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there, especially those who have/had little boys who liked to play pranks on you. It's only one day a year, but the truth is that almost no one, literally, would be here if it weren't for someone's mom (including the one that nourishes us each day). May each of you have a splendid day, and a life with grateful kids and a caring, understanding partner. 

With Love,

Ernst W. aka J.R.

*As an aside from the discussion, I can pretty much guarantee that, had my health problems not gotten so severe so quickly after the youngest one's entrance into our lives, I would most certainly have asked my wife to try and have at least one, if not 2, more children with me. Fortunately, for her especially, we didn't have any more because there's no telling how much more difficult her life would be if we had another one (or two) given the depth and breadth of the cumulative affect of my disabilities. C'est l'vie. As a wife and mother and full-time employee in a very demanding job, she has quite enough to deal with. 

** "They hate us for our freedom." God, what a stupid thing to say but the target audience is pretty dumb anyway; otherwise, the Genius would've been a one-termer. The fact he was re-elected only reinforces the general level of blithe callousness and genuine ignorance.