Throwing Cares to the Wind

The good news is that the building is still standing. The exam room, not so much.  It was was probably out of commission for the rest of the day.

Stevie had an appointment with the dermatologist.  Last time, it went so well that I really wasn't worried about it this time.

Like last time, I told him if he was good and cooperative, we could ride the elevator after the appointment.

Next time, the definition of "good" will be spelled out a little more clearly!

We walk into the exam room after waiting over 20 minutes.

Waiting is NOT a specialty of kids on the spectrum.

Stevie handled it very well, while we waited. Once in the exam room, the hyperness broke through full force.

First he stared out the window--innocent enough.

Then, he thought he'd stand on the window sill behind the blinds.

Not ok. I ask him to get down, and he eventually does--in his good old time after he gets his feet tangled in the blinds and struggles to get down.

He sits on the chair with me and eyes the exam table.

It's irresistible, really, with all that white paper carefully laid along it's bed.  Stevie jumps over to it and sits down.  Then, he starts to rip little pieces of paper off and drops them on the floor.

I have flashbacks from his appointments with his allergist where he pulls the large roll of paper over the exam table and crumples it...pulls more, crumples more, pulls, crumples, pulls, etc. until the entire roll is emptied and heaps of white crinkled paper decorate the floor like throw pillows.

Do you know how loud that paper is?  It rivals SunChip bags when you are trying to not wake the children so you don't have to share them. (Not that I know that from personal experience, I've just heard from others...)

I tell him not to shred the paper, so he stands up on the table and reaches for this giant lamp that  is hanging over the bed. He turns it on and extreme brightness fills the room.  I turn it off and tell him to sit down.

Enter the Doctor and his lovely assistant.

Phew!  I think, wrongly.

The doctor checks out Stevie's skin, which is laden with eczema again, because he decided to suck on a balloon at a birthday party last weekend.  He's allergic to latex...sigh...

As Dr. G. explains which cream to put where and when, and all those details, Stevie decides he is ready to do something else.

He crawls toward the pillow at the end of the exam table, and pulls on the paper and makes an incredible amount of noise in doing so.

Knowing how this can quickly get out of hand, I try to control him at least a little, to minimize damage, but I am unsuccessful.

The more adamant he becomes about making noise and distraction, the more I try to contain him and the louder the commotion and that lovely paper-covered pillow falls off the table.

And on to the side table next to it.

And knocks the tray of exam utensils off the top of the side table, and on to the floor.

And then a loud BANG, and a hissing sound.... and I was sure it was going to explode like a bomb!

Something that looked like a mini fire hydrant had fallen and started spraying white mist all over the room!

This is it!  I am sure we're going to be in the news.  The reporters are lining up in the hall, ready for me to step foot out the door.

The headlines would say:  


Well, at least THAT didn't happen...

At this point, the patient Dr. G. finally stops giving me medical instructions for my sweet, innocent child, and goes to stop the damage.

"Oh, don't worry about that." The lovely assistant says, "We do that all the time! Really."


"Elevator ride?" my innocent child requests.


As I drove home a wee bit stressed, I thought about all the things that went wrong and all the things I could do differently next time, etc.

But a reminder was ringing in my head, and I thought about what happened a couple days ago, when God gave me the best gift ever and I knew that gift was for now.

The gift was an hour and a half that passed so slowly, it seemed like an entire day.

Yup.  90 minutes of solitude, under the most beautiful of conditions.


I had come home from Bible Study with Joy, who stayed in the nursery for the very first time (and did great)!

She was exhausted from the experience, and before I could look at her in my rearview mirror as I usually do before pulling out of the parking space, she fell sound asleep.

I pulled into our driveway and argued with myself as to whether or not I should carry her up to bed, or let her sleep in the car.

The day was perfect.  Dry crisp air blew by my face at varying intervals, the sun chasing the cold with it's warming rays.

I can't pass up this time outside, so I roll down the windows and keep the radio playing,  and sneak out of the car.

I sit in a chair and soak in the day, enjoying the smells of fall.

I knew it was a gift as it happened.  What are the chances that my favorite weather would happen on a day when the big kids are in school, the baby napping so long, and the house empty?

I wasn't going to miss it by thinking about what the rest of the day would hold.  I just rest.

I know that the now is beautiful, and I memorize it.

A leaf rises from the grass.  The wind carries it away.

My stress, my worries, ride that leaf like a boat.  Like Peter Pan going to Never-Never Land.

There is not a care in the world.  I have let the wind blow them away. I have set my mind on things above and I rest.

I wished I could stay in that moment forever, but I knew the chaos would begin again.

I am grateful for the white space, the time uncluttered, the reminder from God that I don't have to carry it all.

I can release it anytime, and God's hand will carry it away with a brisk wind.

And that reminder, was exactly what I needed after the explosive doctors appointment.

I just let it go.  No need to hang on to the stressful parts, I'll think about the humor of the situation, thank God that the building didn't explode,  and let the rest ride the leaf to Never-Never Land.

Matthew 11:29-30   Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”