Migraine lessons

     I stood, bleary eyed, leaning against the kitchen doorjamb yesterday evening watching an amazing spectacle unfold before me…My children were making dinner. Now, this was not their idea, nor was it a teaching moment with me hovering over them, gauging their progress in doubling a recipe. Instead, their cooking extravaganza was necessitated by an intense migraine and a mom’s inability to move far without blinding pain. Despite that pain, I couldn’t believe how smoothly everything was going on the far side of our kitchen counter.

     My eight year old daughter was cutting pears and adding them to an ever growing bowl, my five year old son was making salads and crumbling goat cheese on top of each one, and my four and three year old daughters were patiently waiting at the table. That being said, I will admit that my ten  year old son was playing his tablet and only occasionally looking up to offer helpful suggestions like, “Don’t cut yourself,” “that’s enough cheese,” and “whoa, maybe I should take over” (without any intention of actually doing so.) Still, I couldn’t believe these latent abilities. I hadn’t even suggested what to make, only that there was lots of food in the fridge. The cooperation and the skills they were demonstrating would have been amazing enough on their own but then, to top it all off, they all told me to go back to the couch; that they had everything under control.

     As I lay there, I started to wonder how many more amazing things my kids could do if I just stepped back a little. I’ve seen them fly by me on ski slopes, I’ve seen them give away a precious piece of cookie because the dog stole someone else’s and I’ve heard them explain geology in more depth than I could but when it comes to the herculean tasks of making dinner and unloading and loading the dishwasher I’ve clearly never really pulled back on the reins enough for them to show me what they can do. They seemed, for those ten minutes, to work flawlessly as a team with no official leader. It was both a gift and a trifle terrifying to watch them function so beautifully without me.

     This realization that they can function so well shouldn’t be, but is, a surprise to a mom like me. A mom who can’t help but silently mouth the words to songs when my children are in concerts, a mom whose hands continually float up towards the fabric on the sewing machine  while my daughter is making a doll blanket, a mom who stands two feet behind them while they add ingredients to make sure we will have actual pancakes. I think, from now on, I will keep my mouth closed, I will leave the room while my daughter sews or my son cooks and I will return every few minutes to watch and be amazed, a grateful spectator instead of a nervous participant.