Cooper has a nut allergy. The scary kind that EpiPens and ambulance rides were created for. When he was little class party days were the stuff of nightmares for me. So many edible things from so many different places so completely out of my control. I made it my life’s work to make sure that he didn’t put ANYTHING in his mouth without being absolutely certain that there were no nuts lurking within. By age six I don’t know that he had ever had a whole cookie – one that I had not broken in half, examined, smelled, and probably taken a bite from. We trained like Navy Seals on all of the sneaky places, like banana bread and brownies, where nuts like to hide. We learned that crisscrossed fork imprints are the telltale sign of a peanut butter cookie, but not always, so don’t just assume so! And somehow, by God’s precious grace, a cautious little boy, and a paranoid mama, he survived that treacherous life stage known as elementary school. I can remember my sense of accomplishment – he was listening! He got it! Done and done!
But not really.
A couple of weeks ago, my baby boy was at a friend’s house and ate the cookie. No breaking in half, no sniffing, no bringing it to me to take a bite first, NONE of it. He just ate the cookie. And then, just for good measure, he ate five more. What had looked like his dear friend the traditional chocolate chip had turned out to be its contaminated cousin, peanut butter chocolate chip (didn’t we cover that in SEAL training?!). That night when I finally felt confident enough to let him go to sleep, as I sat and listened to his steady breathing, I thought “Oh well, I just thought we’d mastered that. Was he even listening to anything we taught him all this time?”.
And then I stopped and thought about this boy of mine. OF COURSE he was listening all that time. He shows us that every single day. He messed up. He was having fun, let his guard down, and made a mistake. He ate the cookie. And it scared him, and he knew exactly what to do, and he learned from it. What in the world more could a parent ask for? That isn’t the last time he’ll eat the cookie (let’s hope henceforth they will be mere metaphorical nut-free cookies), and I hope that every single time, without fail, when he has messed up and is scared, he will do the exact same thing. He’ll call us. Immediately. He’ll trust that we’ll be right here and that, no matter how upset or disappointed we may be, we will love him through it. And then, after the initial freak out, when the swelling has gone down and our blood pressure has returned to normal, I hope that he’ll learn from it. If that can happen, then we will have done our job.
The baby boy turns 16 today. He is 6 foot 4 inches of pure wonderful. There is just absolutely nothing like him, and being his Mama is one of the greatest honors of my life. On his 10th birthday I wrote these words, and while “Green Team” has long since been replaced by football mornings and basketball afternoons, I’m still captain of the Cheer Squad, and that won’t ever change. . .
This week we talked about decimals as we waited in car line, and then you kissed me before you got out to start your day. I watched you as you hurried to the door, anxious to be the first Green Team member signed in so that you could get the best hallway. But then it happened, despite your hurry. It took mere seconds. No one else noticed it, but I did. You stopped at the door, held it open, and glanced over your shoulder to make sure there was no one behind you before letting the door swing closed. That heart for others wouldn’t dare let it close on someone, wouldn’t dream of not holding it open for the next person. “There he is!!” “That’s my boy!!” “That’s what I’m talking about!!” You didn’t hear it, but your cheering section went WILD. It just took a glance over your shoulder to make my heart swell. Why? Because I live you. And when you shine, I feel it with every fiber of my being.
Happy, happy birthday, my Cooper. Instead of cookies, today let’s eat CAKE!
More than you’ll ever know,
Mommy
