Laura Chapman Writes

“Hurry UP! We’re going to be late to school!” If only I had a nickel for every time I said that. 

Two days before Christmas break and there were too many distractions in the house for an eight-year-old to be on time for anything. 

“Don’t turn on the tree lights now, it’s not even dark and it’s a waste of electricity!”  Another nickel. 

“What are you doing with those Legos?  You can’t bring them in the car.” Five cents more.

“Where are your socks–we’re ready to walk out the door!” I could see it was going to be at least a twenty-cent morning.

Suddenly his bare ankles caught my attention.

“WHY is there green stuff all over your feet?” Chocolate brown eyes looked up at me and began to fill with tears. I hated it when that happened because I knew it meant I’d have to be hard, even if I didn’t want to.

“A pen exploded.” 

“WHERE?” I said in my sternest voice.

He looked down.  Not a good sign.  “In your office.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do any more art projects on my desk?”

“Yes, but I cleaned it up. I used disenFACTent.” I had to try hard not to smile when he bungled the word.

“Show me.”

Sure enough, right on the edge of my desk were green tinted grains of wood; tell-tail signs of the pen mishap.  I pictured his horror when it happened.  He loved sitting at my desk but too many messes and abandoned toys there had forced me to ban him with multiple reminders he had his OWN desk he could use. 

I could see him searching for something to clean it up, looking over his shoulder to make sure I didn’t see him as he did his best to quickly get rid of the evidence. Obviously, he forgot to scrub his feet and since I was fighting a cold the night before and was too tired to give him a bath they went completely unnoticed. I wondered if that was why he insisted on wearing socks to bed?

I paused to consider my words. For some reason I wasn’t even mad about it. My desk was pretty old. I had even considered replacing it recently, but it had a certain character and tons of great storage.  Now it would be even harder to part with. I took a breath and looked down at big eyes resigned to accept his punishment.

“You know you should have told me when this happened, right?”

“Yes.”

“Were you afraid you would get in trouble?  Is that why you didn’t?”

“Yes.”

“If you had told me I could have tried to get the stain out before it dried into the wood.”

Tears overflowed.  

“I’m sorry, Gigi.”

“You’re still in trouble, you know that, right?”

“Yes.”

Eight years of memories flashed before me in a flood as I quickly reviewed the immense changes he had brought to my life. Never could I have dreamed I would be raising another child after my own were long grown. There were plenty of stains along the way from the realities of the situation and yet somehow, they only seasoned the memories. They served as more of a reminder of the gift of hope and goodness.  Of forgiveness and reconciliation. Of the power of prayer and the miracle of evil being turned into good. I knew in that instant that I wouldn’t even try to remove that stain on my desk.

He stood silently waiting for his sentence, so I took a deep breath and launched into a serious scolding. I made it a good one, so we wouldn’t have to revisit the situation later. He apologized profusely. And I could see he meant it. I made sure he clearly understood if he violated my desk ban in the future he’d face MUCH more significant consequences. I ended it with a stern, “Now get those shoes on NOW so we aren’t late!” Then I quickly turned away, so he wouldn’t see the smile I couldn’t hide any longer.