Herding Cats

"Do you think I have time to run home and check on the kids?" my husband asked over the protruding belly clad in a hospital gown. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with a I.V. in my wrist, monitors on the baby's head, blood pressure cuff on my arm, and the sound of my fingertips drumming on the bedside table.

"Go ahead," I replied, "nothing is happening around here besides your son's knees are lodged in my vertebrae and I'm soaking the bed every 10 minutes and where in the he** is Dr. Parker?"  It was 7:00 a.m. I'd been at the hospital for three hours. Nothing was happening. At. All. But I wasn't going home and my dad really needed a little break. The girls needed to get to school. The boy would be deposited at his grandparents house. They needed to be fed, hair combed, teeth brushed, matching shoes on, someone to explain why we were gone.

Scott left and I called my dad who was at our house taking care of the kids. I asked him how the morning had gone. "It's like herding cats," he said.

Friday morning I met with a woman who adopted a teenager from Africa. She already has 6 children but she knew she could make a difference in this boy's life. Before coming to the United States, his dream was to own his very own stick of deodorant and bar of soap. I thought of my older son's best friend who came to the United States just over a year ago with his 5 brothers and sisters from Uganda. None of them spoke English. All of them were terrified of the food they were served on the airplane. A family near us adopted all six children.

And then there's Amy who, with her husband and six biological children, found herself in Zambia opening an orphanage because she could.

I spent the weekend musing over these extraordinary parents and recognizing my own limitations. Wouldn't it be wonderful to give a child a safe home? Plenty of food to eat, a peaceful country not ravaged and torn by civil war? They would always have shoes, soap, the opportunity for education and a better life. There would be a roof over their heads and adults to care for them.

Last night I dreamed I came home from work and found that my family had adopted two kittens. I like cats. In fact, I like them much better than dogs but I was struck by the burden of responsibility. In my dream, my husband informed me that we were going to take care of both of the kittens but we would only be keeping one of them. "Which one do we take back?" Whichever one we decided we liked less. "We can't give either of them back after we bond with them," I said in despair. I didn't want any more responsibility. I just wanted to take care of my own children. I can barely function with a high-maintenance dog. Our own cat is mercifully aloof, even when a 5 year old forces her to cuddle with him.

This afternoon I found myself with my own four children at Costco. They stay nearby but I worry about them. I couldn't linger by the books or compare prices on patio furniture. We had a mission. We were going to complete it. And then someone had to go potty. We were going to have to separate. I really needed a clone of myself.

As I pushed the gigantic cart toward the bathrooms, I caught a glimpse of a familiar person that gave my heart joy and relief. I chased after her and called, "Mom! Mom!" like a little girl coming home from summer camp. She was delighted to see the children. I was delighted to not be alone in the world and I told her about my disturbing dream. Before she could respond, my 15 year old informed her grandmother that I refer to my children as cats and I'm herding them.

Duh. I am so slow witted.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to give a child a safe home? Plenty of food to eat, a peaceful country not ravaged and torn by civil war? They would always have shoes, soap, the opportunity for education and a better life. There would be a roof over their heads and adults to care for them.

My joy is full.

Happy Mother's Day!