I joined a group of photographers who pick a song of the month and use lifestyle photography to capture that song in photographs - a group aptly named Songs of Life. This month, they picked "Brave" by Sara Bareilles.
There are some brave kids in this world. Every one of them is supported by some brave adult who makes it seem like everything will be ok.
I have been very lucky. My children are healthy. I wouldn't even say they are "brave" because bravery implies persistence in the face of fear and doubt. I haven't really experienced this with my children and I was having a hard time thinking of an instance that would apply.
I had such a hard time thinking of something "Brave", I missed the cut off for the blog post. But, fear not! This blog needs such a shot of something that I am completing the challenge anyway! Right. Brave. Back to that blog post...
My youngest daughter, Finley, is not the definition of brave. The kid is fearless. There isn't an object too high or a challenge too tough. She also lacks a certain amount of common sense, but that is a different blog post. Maybe for next time.
A few weeks ago, she came down with a cold. But it wouldn't go away. It settled in her chest and made her wheezy. My husband has asthma. My youngest sister has asthma. I know a wheeze. It didn't seem to bother her - she was still jumping off of furniture and running in circles until she fell down from dizziness. Her breathing itself seemed ok, it was just incredibly noisy. But it was coming up on Labor Day weekend and I didn't want to wait the weekend in case she needed the doctor, so I called on Friday morning and got in Friday afternoon.
As I suspected, she had a wheeze. The doctor wasn't sure if it was a virus or asthma yet. He said it didn't matter. The treatment was the same. She needed a breathing treatment. She would have one now, and the nurse would be in shortly to set it up.
I had done this before. I remember sitting with my youngest sister as she put the mask over her mouth and had to sit still for a while. It wasn't pleasant. This was different. This was my own child, and one who didn't like to sit still for anything, let alone with a mask over her face.
The nurse came in to set up the machine. It all looked familiar. The little vial, now plastic instead of glass. The mist clouding the mask and billowing into the air. The noise the machine made hadn't changed in the last twenty years - a kind of grinding air compressor.
Once everything was set up, the nurse proclaimed, "There you go. I will be back in a few minutes."
No helpful hints. No soothing sounds. No reassurance - except that she would be back.
And I'm left with a crying, very upset three year old.
Did I mention Finley has a will of steel?
What about a set of lungs that would put Mick Jagger to shame?
Check. And CHECK.
It isn't like the nurse asked me to perform open heart surgery, but a little help would have been great. No such luck.
This is when my Momma instincts kicked in. And, I do have to say, I'm super proud of this moment in my Momma life. What do you do when your fearless three year old has to hold a mask and breathe in vapors?
You tell her the vapors are super powers.
Yep.
Super. Powers.
And that she has to breathe them in because she's Super Girl and she needs more power, because what is Super Girl without her powers? And.. here... put your fist in the air just like this... and let me see your powers.
Oh dear. They look a little weak. Quick! You need the super girl mask! And the powers!
And then you can talk about all the great things super girl can do when she has her power back.
And because the kid is three and doesn't know any better, this does not sound like the most ridiculous story on the planet. Nope.
Instead, it becomes a mantra. It becomes part of the vocabulary we use in our house.
"How are your super powers? Do you need some more?"
"Yes. I'm a little wheezy."
And suddenly the green mask with the vapors and the jack hammer noise is something we can handle.
It just becomes something we do sometimes. For the power.
Finley was never scared. She just didn't want to do it. *I* was scared. *I* was the one who needed to be brave. Think quick.
Say what you want to say.
And let the words fall out.
It also helps a little to scream VERY LOUDLY into your mask that you are SUPERRRRR GIRRRRL. Because, girl. Let the world know.
I want to see you be brave.
