Fixing

I'm a fixer by nature.

I am certain that we could examine my life and come up with all sorts of psychological reasons that I am so compulsively compelled to nurture, caretake, and solve problems but the end result is still the same: I'm a fixer. I like the work of it, having something to do that is of service and purpose. I don't need the credit, just the opportunity.

That sounds wrong...I'd be happy if there were no need (thus, no opportunity) for fixing in this world. But, let's face it: We live in a world replete with wounds...visible and not...and so, while those wounds exist, I will fix.

A very wise and trusted advisor has invested a good bit of energy and effort over the past several years to help me see that I cannot fix the entire world, that I have the right to fix myself, and that I even have the responsibility to sometimes say no to demands on my time and energies. For the most part, I've learned to be more judicious with my efforts...to take the time to nurture myself and to not feel guilty about that.

Sometimes, though, there are situations which threaten to undo much of that growth. Situations which take my heart, rip it to shreds, and leave me consumed with the need to make it all better. Situations which leave me internally wailing and screaming with frustration because no matter what I do there is nothing I can actually do to fix it.

There is nothing more frustrating to a fixer than to be completely helpless to a situation, to be entirely unable to fix a thing about it but to want nothing more than to make it all better, to be able to wave a wand (or find the words or create a solution) and make the wounds or pain in front of us disappear.

There have been a few situations like this in my life. When I was told that my marrow recipient was, indeed, terminally ill I shattered inside and wished with all my being that I could trade places with her to spare her family the agony of losing their beloved wife, mother, daughter, and sister. I wished that for years, long after she was gone. Even still, sometimes. When I first met my godson in Honduras...a 4 year old who weighed 13 lbs 8 oz because there hadn't been enough food to feed him so that he could grow. Holding his starved, fragile, weak, deprived little body I felt smaller than I knew was possible. I could be part of the team that loved and fed this one child...but what of the millions more I could never help? Irrationally, it felt like a personal failure. I would watch this breathtakingly emaciated child begin to grow again, to smile again, and when my heart would leap with joy at his progress it would also sob in frustration at all the children who would never get what he got: A home. Food. Love.

Most recently, the situation that leaves me broken and without any answers is one that has left many others in the same dizzying spinning place as myself.

Ryan has cancer, again.

He's only 7 and he has been in the hospital since May 10...more than 9 weeks now and almost all of that in the PICU.

If you've ever loved someone going through treatment for cancer, you know that cancer is terrible awful wretched heartbreaking a mother fucking bitch. (warning to parents: this blog may contain inappropriate language.)

There's nothing I can do to fix this. I cannot take the beast away. I cannot offer his parents several different solution scenarios to try out, the way I usually can for parents struggling with a parenting dilemma because cancer is way beyond "parenting dilemma". I cannot take away his tumors, one of which has taken up residence inside his spinal cord and left him unable to feel or move from the midchest down. I cannot take away the unending pain he is in...but if there were a way for me to feel it so he didn't have to, I would. I don't say that out of altruism, I say that because, quite selfishly, it would be easier to feel his pain myself than it is to watch him feel it, easier to be in pain myself than to be helpless in the face of his agony. When he vomits from chemo and radiation, I can hold a basin and wipe his face and cradle his head and murmur soothing words...but I can't stop his suffering. I can't share it. I can't even ease it. More often than not, just as I am about to truly break it is Ryan who fixes it...an impish grin, a giggle, a joke...his ability to mentally and emotionally rally around and just be a boy reminds me to focus on the small successes, on the sparkle that exists in every darkness.

I don't know how his parents stand it, every day. They are two of the strongest people I know simply for the fact that they are still coherent and upright. I don't know how they do it. I'd do anything so that they didn't have to, so that they had their laughing running dancing boy back, healthy and strong. They suffer with their son, and there is nothing that can be done about that, either.

This past week what I could not fix was a massive, raging, infection that has ravaged Ryan's defenseless system. Chemo has left him without much of an immune system and the infection ran rampant, wreaking havoc on his already embattled little body. With his blood pressure and temperature skyrocketing, the decision was made to sedate him and put him on a ventilator so that his energy can go entirely to fighting the infection.

Seeing a child you love on a ventilator is a sucker punch that will knock you to your knees.

When Ryan's mom texted me to tell me about this new development I asked her what I could do because I was at a loss. I needed to fix it for them, but knew I could not. She told me that what she needed from me was my prayers..."massive prayers."

Have you ever come up with an idea that you know didn't come from you? My faith based friends know what I am talking about, my non faith based friends just think this sort of thing has a diagnosis behind it.

Sometimes, we are merely instruments of the Spirit.

See? You either know exactly what I mean or you think I need heavy medication.

I've been used by the Spirit before. Sometimes it has been an outpouring of advice and wisdom that just pours forth, without any actual conscious effort from me. Sometimes it is a sudden very clear plan for something. When it happens, I feel different. It is hard to explain...if you felt it, you'd know it for what it is. It is a quiet and joyful peace, a secure knowing. It comes from something far greater than self.

There is a Fixer who can fix what we cannot, and that Fixer often asks us to be His hands.

A clue for me that I am just an instrument, other than that peaceful knowing, is that my heart leaps eleventy twelve thousand miles ahead of my brain. I am led by impulse, not a thought out plan.

So it was when I found my fingers typing out event invites for a prayer gathering for Ryan to be held in the hospital chapel. Without actual thought I just knew the time, place, and people. I knew the people I invited would invite others. I sent out invites, sat back, and realized with complete panic that I had no idea what I was doing.

Faith and prayer are an integral part of who I am but I am not a prayer or worship leader. I have never been comfortable in that role or even been called to that role and so I've never filled that role. And now, here I was with an event in less than 24 hours and because my heart had leapt ahead of my brain.

As amazing grace would have it, I have many friends in ministry. They are gifted and generous and compassionate and kind. Two of them were also willing, at a moments notice, to plan and prepare a prayer service complete with music, readings, reflections, and prayers.

That's how it happens when we allow ourselves to be His hands. What could be a ridiculous disaster falls magically, perfectly, effortlessly together. We have to allow self to step back, get out of the way, and reach His hands out. Sometimes, when we want most to be the fixer we have to hand the fixing over to someone else, to something else.

Oh, how sweet the sound to hear 80+ voices raised in prayerful song in that tiny hospital chapel that we used without asking permission. Standing room only, every heart as desperate as my own to heal this one child. It is a safe bet that every person who showed up wants, as badly as I do, to fix this for Ryan and his family.

And because not one of us is a miracle worker, we joined together to ask God, the one miracle worker we know, to fix what we cannot. We raised our shouts to the Lord, who can heal our every ill, and knew we were joined by hearts from all over the globe in one prayer: Heal this child, and hold his parents up.

Maybe sometimes being a fixer means knowing you can't fix it and asking the one who can to take over.

Ryan is stable for now, still sedated, still on a vent, still trying to get rid of the infection.

I can't fix that.

But I know who can.

Just Another Day

Some days I actually manage to appear competent, even skilled, at my job. Others? Not so much. Last Friday was of the "not so much" variety.

I thought I was getting a jump on what was to be a busy day...I brought my laundry to work (note to nanny employers: Let your nanny bring her laundry. Best. Perk. Ever. She's doing yours anyway.) I even got it started right away so it would be mostly done by the time the cleaning lady arrived.

Remember the laundry. I got distracted with our day. Dadboss took Little Litigator to soccer camp. I laid out clothes for the twincesses and commenced a 2 hour search for Twincess A's sandals.

You'd think that since we actually have a bench by the front door with baskets in it specifically for the children's shoes that I might usually find the children's shoes in those baskets. This has not been the case this summer and I am often left searching for shoes that didn't get put away while Mommy and Daddy were in charge. On one notable occasion, the missing shoes were in Mommy's car. At Mommy's office. I've learned to plan extra time into our day plans for unexpected necessities, such as a trip to Mommy's office to retrieve those shoes from her car. On this day, knowing Mommy was in court, a text or call to mommy was not possible to determine the location of the missing sandals. So, we searched.

I'll admit up front I got a little cranky with a particular barefooted twincess who could not, for the life of her, remember where her sandals were and who tearfully insisted she'd put them away the night prior.

After two hours of pulling apart every drawer, closet, and storage basket in the house I gave up and handed the shoeless child a pair of socks and her tennies. "It cwashes wif my dwess!" Yes, but you know what will clash more? Tetanus from stepping on some random metal object in your bare feet. Besides, I've already wasted most of the morning and don't have time for an ER visit...we need to get to Target.

As we raced around Target, Twincess E decided that our fellow shoppers ought to be given the privilege of seeing how her dress lifts and twirls when she spins. As she did so I saw a flash of bare bottom and realized, to my complete horror, that she had given herself the privilege of a day off from underwear. I was a bit confused because I knew I'd put out two pairs of panties with their clothes and both pairs were gone when they were finished dressing.

I tried to be cool and calm about it, so instead of screeching and running out of there with her tucked under my arm and wrapped in a stolen blanket to shield her little baby hoo-hah from the pedophiles with cell phone cameras that I just know are hanging around, I restrained my horror and casually asked, "Em, where are your underwear?"

She lifted her dress, flashing our fellow shoppers once again. "Oh," she said cheerfully as she waggled her naked little hips, "I'm not wearing any. But don't worry, Tara. I told Abby to put on both pairs just in case I changed my mind."

Well, at least she had a plan and foresight. And, the superpower to make her sister obey because her sister was, indeed, rather unhappily wearing both pairs of panties.

A quick trip to the bathroom remedied the situation and we were on our way to pick up their brother from soccer camp.

Now, it should be noted that the day previous I had told the children that we'd have a picnic lunch and then go to the zoo after soccer. I'd amended that plan due to the incredibly hot day predicted and eased their sorrow over the lost zoo trip with the promise of a trip to a local splash pad instead.

We arrived to soccer early (early is so not normal for us) so I shot off a quick text to their mother to let her know that Twincess A's sandals were lost and that I'd spent most of the morning looking for them.

Her quick reply: "They are in the garage."

Okay, for real? Not only did they not get put away, but you know where they are and somehow managed to think either A. that I'd magically know the shoes were in the garage where we never go to play or B. that we'd not need her shoes even though we had plans to be out and about all day? Are you kidding me? Have the last FOUR TIMES we've been unable to find shoes helped you at all to see that maybe, JUST MAYBE, it makes sense to have the children put their shoes away in the spot you purchased just for that reason?

It took me several minutes to figure out how to reply to that without the words "I quit." After all, I need my paycheck to pay my bills. Plus, I'm rather fond of the children.

While I came up with a friendlier and more appropriate reply, my allergies took over. Sneezing, boogery, itchy, swollen eyes allergies...and it became pretty obvious that the promised trip to the splash pad wasn't going to be a wise decision if this nanny wanted to be able to actually, oh, see the children. Or breathe, at all.

The children took that news somewhat stoically (if near hysteria pitch voices wailing "But what else will we doooooooo!!!" counts as "stoically").

We ate a quick lunch at home and I checked my phone for movie options (thank you, flixster). Now, I would have dearly loved to take them to see Cars 2, but their father already claimed it as his right, thus leaving me to have to go see it as the creeper-grown-up-at-an-animated-film-with-no-kids-in-tow. "You," he'd told me with a sinister and delighted grin which revealed his knowlege of my distaste for most Jim Carrey films, "can take them to see Mr. Popper's Penguins." Awesome (<---not really).

We raced up to Great Lakes Crossing...after stashing socks for all in my purse because you know as well as I do that there is NO WAY we are going to get out of this mall without visiting the socks-required play area. As we raced up there (obeying, of course, all traffic laws which is more than I can say for some people on the roads that day...not gonna mention any names but I'm lookin' at you Mr. Exits-the-freeway-from-the-left-lane-without-signaling-or-slowing-down) I realized there was no way we were going to make the showtime for the penguin flick. Shame. (<---not really). I vaguely recalled that another child appropriate film would begin 45 minutes later, so I wasn't worried.

That is, I wasn't worried until I pulled all three children out of the car and it dawned on me that 1. I have no cash and 2. I'm pretty sure my card isn't in my wallet but is, instead, on my coffee table at home, 40 minutes away. I verified this by checking my wallet.

Bad, bad, irresponsible nanny. Are you keeping count? First, we aren't going to the zoo. Then, we aren't going to the splash pad. Then, we aren't going to the intended movie. THEN, we aren't going to ANY movie. That's a crapload of disappointment and broken promises for three small children to take. I broke the news to my tiny people and there was a mutually horrified silence. I could see their brains whirring back to the last time I didn't have my card.

Last March. Same Mall.

We'd come to have a birthday lunch for the Little Litigator at the Rainforest Cafe and, after our merry meal, I'd realized I was without any form of payment. Nothing. I had to leave my driver's license with the manager, haul all three children back to their house where my card was in the washing machine, having been left in the back pocket of my jeans from the day before. Then we booked it back to the mall and, just as we re-entered, Twincess A proceeded to vomit twelve times her body weight in puke. All over the mall entrance (inside and out), all over herself, and (most disgustingly) all inside my purse. And we still had to go back in to pay our lunch bill and retrieve my license.

And you know how I know for sure that's what their horrified little selves were thinking? Because after a few moments Twincess A broke with silence with a very sweetly solemn and reassuring, "It's okay Tara, I'm not gonna frow up this time."

Well, I guess that's good then, right?

I realized I had very few options at this point. Even if we went all the way back to my place to get my card, we'd still miss the movie at the mall. I checked flixster and saw that the penguin film was playing even a later showtime right near home, giving us enough time to get the card and get to the theater. A little over a half hour later we are nearing the exit closest to my home when I remembered that the totebag on the floor of my car holds, among other things, my checkbook. It probably would have been easier on our day had I remembered this at the mall, where there's a branch of my bank nearby, where I could have written a check for cash.

Very much humbled and self irritated, I hit the bank closest to my place, got cash, and made it to the theater in time to see Jim Carrey get hit in the nads, make poop jokes, and dance with antarctic fowl. Of course, before we got to our seats I managed to spill both pop AND buttered popcorn all over a new shirt, but that's just par for the course on some days.

Have you seen this movie? If not, *Spoiler Alert* I'll warn you that the closing credits scroll along to that familiar-and-I-wish-I-didn't-still-know-most-of-the-words hip hop hit of my later high school years, "Ice, Ice, Baby". As I completely mortified myself with a compulsive need to sing along (Because who, really, can hear "Stop!" without chiming in on "Collaborate and listen!" It's like Snap, without crackle and pop...you can't have one without the others) Little Litigator got his groove thing on and delightedly asked, "Tara, can this be my new favorite song?"

In a word? NO.

I doubt he's ever going to ask for permission on something like that again, but I am eternally grateful for the veto power he gave me on this one because no way no how am I going through the whole summer with a 6 year old singing "Will it ever stop? yo, I don't know..." or "To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal" Just. Not. Gonna happen.

By the time we got back to their house, their mom was home, watering the lawn peacefully. She handed me my paycheck as we filled her in on our ridiculous day. "I bet you're glad it's Friday, huh?"

I smiled and nodded, but what I was really thinking was "I don't care what day of the week it is, I'm just glad it is OVER because I can't screw up anything else now."

I helped the kids into their swimsuits so they could run through the sprinklers, made sure I didn't run anyone over on my way out of the driveway, and headed to the bank on my way home.

And realized, at the bank, that all the laundry I'd so responsibly and efficiently gotten done first thing in the morning was still in the laundry room. At work.

Awesome. (<---Again, not really.)