Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Grayson had another migraine at school yesterday.
It wasn't as intense as the one two week's ago, thank goodness (and special Tylenol). It did require two visits to the clinic, a quick trip from mom to dispense medicine, and a four hour deep sleep once he got home. I think we caught this one in time with the medicine. Thankfully and surprisingly he awoke pink-cheeked and ready for dinner.
(I feel like I need to preface the rest of this post with some background info. It is a fact that I grew up an intuitive sensitive feeler person but very much a religious skeptic with an agnostic grandfather. My mom was brought up Catholic but it never quite sunk in with me. I took my grandmother to Christmas mass a handful of times, attended services at a Mormon Temple, synagogue, and I think a Baptist church once. At age eight, I was "baptized" Catholic in the Gulf of Mexico by my then step-mom. She dipped my brother's and my forehead below the briny water, said some Jesus words, and we were deemed good to go to heaven. As an adult, I didn't quite believe there was a God until my grandfather heard a choir of glorious music on his deathbed. Heard is not accurate. It was blaring through his eardrums and his mind for days, starting soft at first, then getting louder and louder as his legs became swollen and more swollen. It drove him absolutely crazy that I couldn't hear it too. "Are you sure it's just for me?" he would ask. And I would listen hard, lift my eyebrows and say, "Yep. Don't hear a thing. It's just for you." So, my son does not get his spiritual side from any upbringing. He has always been what I can only describe as "connected to some place else", ever since I met him. Since giving birth to him, I have never been able to deny that there is truth in heaven and a higher power because he has always shown me the connection. Through his visions, his innate thoughts, and his steadfastness of goodness. My son is my religion.)
"Sh*t Mom, where's my cross?" Grayson says to me this morning in the car.
"Don't say sh*t and probably in your bed, somewhere in your sheets. Can you use something else today?"
Grayson has been keeping this little Dollar Store silver cross in his pocket every day. On it, he prays to God to make his headaches stop during school. He has also been asking for a pirate ship but I'm not sure that one's a legit prayer.
"Here, let me see what I have in my purse," I grump rooting through an iPad cable, Abby's purple shimmer nail polish, extra straws, receipts, and a Cert's roll. "Aha, try this!" I declare while tossing him a raindrop sized rubber blue pencil topper.
"No, Mom. It has to be something that God already talked to."
Great. I have less than 5 minutes to produce a holy symbol that God has had a chat with inside my purse.
"Ummm. Whoa, forgot that was in here. Look at THIS!" I am thrilled to have landed on a wee magnetic box with a cross on the side. I bought one for each kid at a gift shop when we went to the mountains last year. The inside of the box was, at one time, a container for three small angels: Love, Faith, and Hope. Or something like that, I forget. I shook it like a maraca to see if any angels were still inside.
Click-clack-click went the little metal box.
I am a superhero. I found my son his holy power symbol and because I am a hoarder and can't find a place in the garbage for straws and old receipts, he will never have another migraine at school ever again! Parental pack ratting is godly and must be rewarded by a promising migraine-free destiny.
"Mom," grunts a very disappointed recipient. "There is only one angel inside."
"Well, sheesh. How many people do you know could pull a freaking angel out of their purse at all? I think one is plenty."
Apparently he thought so too. After he hopped out of the car to skitter down the sidewalk toward his class like a scruffy pound puppy with luggage, I watched as he pat at his pocket. To make sure his one angel was still there.
The nurse hasn't called to report another migraine yet today.
One angel is definitely plenty.