Unabashed

We had our first snow here in 5 years on Saturday. It was fun, although for you folks who get a lot of snow I can see how it would be a pain if it lasted for more than a few days. We accumulated about an inch, and by three in the afternoon it was mostly all gone, but was fun while it lasted. I did not build a grassy, muddy snowman and there wasn’t enough to sled on, although my front yard is sloped enough so that would be fun if we ever got the chance. My wife put out a bowl to collect enough snow for some snow ice cream, but when she went to get it it was full of water. Basically I just went out with my 3-year old and walked around for a little while, but he got irritated quickly as it kept fluttering down into his eyes. It was his first-ever sight of snow in real life, and he was pretty excited about it until he got out in it, then he just wanted to go back inside. I stayed out for a while, thinking about global warming and wondering if it’s all just hogwash or if we are all, in fact, doomed.

written by Matt Mitchell \\ tags: Snow

I may not have told you Thanksgiving Day’s tale, but suffice it to say that the Mitchell clan was quarantined with 1 sinus infection, 3 ear infections, 1 case of bronchitis and 1 case of strep throat. Poor little 11-month-old Liam had two of the ear infections himself, and 3-year-old Lucas had the strep.

Fast forward to Christmas, and we were all feeling puny again. But, having been denied our Thanksgiving, we were resolutely determined that this holiday would be one we would celebrate no matter if we have expose everyone to whatever malady we’d been stricken with that time. We’d all been coughing ugly, hacking, wet coughs that constrict you for minutes at a time. But, as I said, we were resolute: Christmas must be ours.

But then came Christmas Eve night, and while my wife was getting ready for her family’s Christmas party (they neatly celebrate with the family on Christmas Eve night) and Little Liam was taking a nap, I took Lucas to bathe him (I was already dressed and ready to go). But when I took off Lucas’s shirt his skin felt very hot under my hands. I thought about it for a second and realized he hadn’t eaten very much at all that day, and then I looked closer at his torso and saw a few little red bumps. I took his temperature: 101.9. Christmas now was firmly forgotten and my wife and I spent the next six hours at Children’s Hospital in Birmingham monitoring Luke’s fever which at one point rose to 103. We did manage to get some fluids into him, and got his fever down and got the diagnosis: atypical chicken pox. Atypical because he’s had the CP vaccination and is supposed to be immune. Clearly, the CP vaccination needs work. The saddest part of the night was when, while shaking from the fever, Luke looked up at me with understanding eyes (those eyes were far away through much of the ordeal) and said, with the most pitiful voice ever, “Can we still go to the Christmas party?” All I could do was hug him and tell him that there would be other parties, and that he was a good boy, and I loved him very much.

By the time we left the hospital he was in good spirits, and we treated him to a cheeseburger at the only open restaurant in town (Waffle House) at 1 AM. Santa did pay us a visit, despite our irregular hours, and Luke and Liam awoke to a glorious gaggle of gifts surrounding our tree.

I became a parent late. My wife and I had Lucas when I was 35. Everyone told me it would change my life, and for the millionth time in the three years since we had him, I knew what they meant. I realized that I would gladly give everything I had, life included, if he could live a long and happy life. Those realizations are immensely stirring when that little boy’s skin feels like a hot plate, his head is sweating, his whole body is shaking uncontrollably, his eyes are vacant, and you’re afraid that he might die. How easy would it be to say, “My life for his?” In those moments, very easy indeed.

written by Matt Mitchell