I think the end times are coming. All across the internet I have been reading tales of how children and adolescents have been kind, compassionate, and less than terrible.
I have my own story to share, which should cement my Armageddon theory quite nicely.
Last Friday I was getting ready to take the kids into school. All four were tucked into the car, and I darted back into the kitchen for a cup of coffee to take with me for the drive into town. Coffee in hand, I locked the kitchen door and started to walk around the back of the car.
I didn't see the gray patch of ice on the floor of our carport and before I even knew what was happening, I had slipped, my body hitting the cement with a solid thunk as the wind knocked out of my lungs, the clanging of my favorite coffee cup ringing in my ears as it broke against the tail of my bumper.
Let me just pause for a minute to tell you what was going through my head as I struggled to breathe and get wind into my lungs so I could properly moan in pain. I stared at the ice patch that was now up against my cheek and nose and thought, Damn. That was my favorite coffee cup.
I had no expectations of what was to follow. I have often wondered what my kids would do if I were to accidentally maim myself in the kitchen while preparing them a meal. My guess would have been that they wouldn't have blinked an eye from their slug-like postures on the couch. I can picture one of them hearing the thud of my body making contact with the kitchen tile and calling over her shoulder for me to fetch some fruit snacks once I regained consciousness.
So, imagine my surprise when I bit it on the cement and within one or two seconds I heard the doors to the car swing open and found myself eye to toe with three pairs of feet (Jack, understandably, was harnessed in his carseat, although I'm sure a well of compassion bubbled in his baby gut).
"Mom! Don't move! Let us help you up!"
"Are you okay, Mama?"
"I'll go get you more coffee!"
And I was pulled, patted, and led to the driver's seat as if I had just hired my own set of hospital orderlies. The nice kind.
I cannot tell you how happy this made me. All day I floated on a cloud of spun sugar and sparkles as I recreated the scene in my head. I called my friends. I called my husband. We ooed and aaahed over their sweet behavior. I now scour parking lots for ice patches in hopes of recreating the lovefest that was my crash to the ground. My children cared! Enough to move their bodies!
It is a glorious time, and certainly a sign from above that the world is ending. Make your amends now, and go inflict a head wound in front of your offspring to test my theory if you don't believe me.