I believe you...

The other day, my son came down from nap a little less enthusiastic than usual. He wakes up really well normally. This is a trait that he inherited from his dad, not me. Me, I wake up like a drugged sloth and my daughter inherited that trait full force. It ain’t pretty, watching us wake up. Either one of us girls. Especially when we had to be woken up before our bodies were totally ready. My dad says I used to wake up swinging as a teenager. Somehow, I believe him.

 Instead of aiming directly for his toys, my son wanted a cuddle and among his first words to me were a request for medicine to “make it all better”. I asked him where his ouchie was and he told me it was his mouth. Hmmm… I had been a bit hoarse myself and my throat, while not hurting, was not totally normal either.  I’d been attributing it to the heat and potentially allergies. Whatever the reason, I was not feeling 100%. My lack of complaint was entirely maturity and lack of time for my own needs.

I am pretty firmly in the gray area when it comes to medicine. I don’t believe in medicating everything in existence, but I also don’t see the point in suffering when you could take something safe and feel better. With the kids, I try to be conservative so that I don’t overuse the medications but I also like to keep them comfortable when I can.

I was going to hold off on the medicine, wait to see if he asked me again. I figured if he asked me again he meant it. If not, then he was probably fine. Right?

And then it occurred to me. He NEVER asks for medicine. And I do mean never. He asks for hugs and cuddles when he’s less than 100%, but not medicine. He’s given me no reason to doubt him. I believe him when he tells me that he saw a truck that I didn’t see. I should believe him now. Isn’t that one of the benefits of kids developing language? We can find more opportunities to trust them. Especially when they have proven themselves trustworthy.

I sat him on the kitchen counter and gave him some medicine. Kissed his head gently and gave him a big hug. 15 minutes later, he was a new man. Go figure.

I remember being a kid and asking for things. Permission to go somewhere or do something. Access to something I wanted. My parents were really very good about saying yes whenever possible. They worry enormously, as part of who they are, so I always had to call when I got there. I did, however, get permission to go more often than not. It wasn’t bad at all. Even at the time, I rarely complained or felt bothered.

It always drove me crazy, however, when adults didn’t believe me. I resented being seen as unreliable or untrustworthy simply because I was younger. Sometimes I was probably missing something, lacking an awareness of the bigger picture. Ignoring the fact that I lost this person’s trust at one point or another. At other times, however, the adults had no reason to doubt me. And those moments really angered me because I knew I deserved the chance to prove my worthiness, my honesty.

There was a time, in High School, when a teacher accused me of cheating. We had a surprise assignment, a pop quiz of sorts. We completed the assignment and then the teacher asked us to turn it in. At least I presume he did. I was talking. I know. I should have been listening, but I was talking to my friend. Being talkative and immature, I frequently talked in class. And because I was talking, I didn’t hear the request to turn in the assignment. Later, when the teacher noticed the missing assignment and approached me about it on campus, he behaved as if I had intended to cheat.

I was furious. Indignant. How dare he! I may be talkative. I may even have been a bad student or a pain to have in class. But a cheater? No way! I’m honest. That, combined with my failing grade on said assignment, should have been the tip off. If I was cheating, I would have improved my score. Right?

My parents, however, believed me. I confessed entirely to everything for which I was guilty, but I denied cheating. My parents believed me, thank goodness. They gave me a lecture about paying attention in class (a well deserved one, I might add).But they backed me up on the honesty attack.

Thanks Mom and Dad. I wonder if you knew just how much that meant. I wonder if my son felt the same way as I picked him up, and gently gave him the medicine he had requested.