From the time our oldest child was able to reach out and grasp a Christmas decoration, we reconciled that each year there would be attrition through accidents. This year was different. My youngest child isn't more clumsy than her older brother and sister. She is deliberate and willful and sometimes downright spiteful.
About 15 years ago I worked in product development for a major fast food company. For two years I did nothing other than research french fries. Unofficially I was the fry queen of McDonald's. For two years I was obsessed by types of potatoes, growing regions, cooking oil and operational procedures. One Christmas the suppliers with whom I worked gave me a limited edition, glass ornament depicting a package of McDonald's fries. Over the years I have purged all my memorabilia from my time at McDonald's. I no longer have the t-shirts or briefcases, portfolios or pens. However, I still have that ornament.
As soon as Peyton and Bennett were old enough to recognize the golden arches on the ornament, they would ask me to tell them about it. For a few moments I got to the be the mom with the cool job. I often hear the kids tell their friends how their mommy (Beth) is a principal. They brag that she has a school with white boards and a gym and an intercom. I once heard Peyton tell her friends that she is pretty sure all I do at work is boss people around and write checks. So each Christmas I gently unwrap my glass french fry ornament and Peyton asks me to tell them about the time when I had a fun job.
This year Peyton unwrapped the fry ornament and showed it to Emerson. She started to explain why it was so special and how Mama would tell us about it. Emerson didn't let her finish before she snatched it out of Peyton's hand and smashed it on the coffee table. Then she looked to me for a reaction. In that instant all sorts of things flashed through my mind--most involved duct tape: would it be possible to duct tape bubble wrap to her hands for the rest of December? Could I duct tape her to the wall so she could be with the family but unable to break anything else? Do warehouse clubs sell duct tape and how much would I need in Emerson's lifetime? In the midst of my revengeful thoughts, flashed a question that I couldn't easily ignore: what is it that I value?
When I think it might be God teaching me a lesson, I am less likely to throw my full adult temper tantrum. Now I don't think I will ever be godly enough to be nonplussed by intentional destruction. I am fully aware that part of my mom duties include teaching my children to show respect and care for things. I have a feeling that with Emerson as my daughter, I had better quickly get to the answer of what I value. In a split second I need to know that I value my family over the stuff. I value Christmas messages and memories over decorations and presents.
A couple of days ago, in a fit of anger, Emerson swept her arm across the end table in the living room and wiped out one of our Nativity scenes. This was the first one I purchased where Mary, Jesus, Joseph and the other cast of characters were Black. I bought it when Peyton was a baby and it started my quest to find ones that didn't depict the Holy family with blonde hair and blue eyes. What do I value? As much as I love that set, I love even more that one night I found my children telling each other the Christmas story while moving around the pieces of that set.
Last night after we had put the children to bed, Peyton came out to the family room and asked us to come quickly and bring the vacuum. Even though Emerson was supposed to be in bed, she was running around and knocked over the Christmas tree in the girls' room. The tree was laying on its side surrounded by shattered ornaments. We call it the girls' tree but it is really Peyton's. She and her grandmother have been filling it with special ornaments since Peyton was a very small girl. I was so very sad for Peyton and fully expected to support any tirade she hurled at her little sister.
Instead Peyton asked Emerson to sit on her bed next to her. She explained to her naughty little sister that she needed to check Emerson's feet in case she cut them on the broken glass. Then I watched Peyton tenderly examine each little toe and proclaim all was well. What do I value? Once again my little girl taught me what the answer should be.
