A Jen Too Many

Do you ever have those times when it feels like one of your children has just wrung out your heart like a sponge? It's a physical sensation sometimes, the love and compassion I feel for them, one so strong that it's as if everything in my chest is twisting from the force of my emotion.

I've only just gotten Youngest Daughter calmed down. She has been sobbing for the last half hour, because she misses her friend from preschool. She hasn't seen this friend since May. I had their phone number, but lost it, and now I feel like the most evil mommy on the face of the planet.

I first realized something was wrong when I heard muffled weeping coming from the girls' room. I looked over and saw YD's head just sticking out the door as she laid on her tummy, looking at something in the light from the hall. I called her over and she came out, sobbing now, holding what I recognized as her class photo from preschool last year. She told me she missed her friend, that she loved her and she missed her.

Nothing I said would comfort her, not even the promise that she will be seeing her friend in two more days. She just kept sobbing. It wasn't her usual crying - tears of pain, or anger, or frustration. Those are light tears, deeply felt, but still all on the surface. These were tears of bone-deep mourning. Her sobs came up from her belly, shaking her whole body, making her cough and gag with their force. She grieved over her friend's absence as if they'd never see each other again. Two more days of separation might as well have been two decades.

It caught me off guard. She's talked about this friend a lot, and made it very clear to me that she dearly loves this little girl, but she's been happy and contented all summer and made only a few passing references to her. When I realized I'd lost the paper with the phone number I felt horrible, but as the weeks passed and YD only mentioned her friend in passing I was relieved to have gotten off so easily.

Have I ever mentioned my phenomenal talent for falling flat on my face?

Hugs wouldn't calm her down tonight. Snuggling with Mommy didn't work.* Frequent reminders that she'll see her friend at preschool on Thursday, "...and that's only two days away, Tuesday and Wednesday, then Thursday!", went nowhere. I finally got the idea to have her color a picture to give to her friend. That proved to be the key. YD calmed down and even started smiling as she colored, and then dictated a letter for me to write.

This is the letter:

Dear C----,

I love you. You're my friend and I miss you so much. I hope you'll come again and I love you. It's me, YD. I love you so much. I hope you'll come again because you'll always be my friend and I love you.

YD

She wrote the first two letters of her signature and I wrote the rest.

There are times when there is absolutely nothing that could possibly express how much I love these kids. All I can do is sit there and feel it and hope that I don't make too many mistakes.
___________________________________________

*It did, however, give me what is now my top contender for funny things my children have said: "She has my hair, and she has my skin, but I don't know if she has my pull-ups."**

**YD is the only blonde in the family. She gets very excited every time she sees another person with "yellow hair like mine!"