Day 2 (November 13, 2016): My Thomas

So, when I started this blog, I promised myself I wouldn't focus too much on my own kids. I'm a self-confessed Facebook over-poster when it comes to my children. Photos, updates, brag moments, b^tc*y moments--you name it. They're my life, but I also understand they're not everyone else's. And I am the first person to eye-roll when other parents launch an "Aren't MY kids adorable" assault. Still, what is that saying we all hear so often? Charity starts at home? Well, so, too, does kindness. Therefore, indulge me on Day Two.

My son, Thomas, is seven. He's the proverbial middle child in a lot of ways. He's sensitive yet independent, and he's neither the loudest crier (Lauren, my baby) nor the biggest boss (Maria, my oldest). As the non-squeaky wheel, it's not that he gets overlooked--but there are occasions when I'm reminded that I'd do better to remember how special he is.

When Thomas was born, he was only with me a few minutes before he started having respiratory problems. Of all my six birthing experiences, it was the scariest. Anyone who's had a baby whisked off to the NICU can probably relate. Suddenly your world is teeming with white lab coats and blue scrubs, and your baby feels millions of miles away (even though they've just wheeled the bassinet across the room). 

For our week-long NICU stay, I felt like most of what I did was cry. Granted, a week isn't all that extensive compared to the war stories I've heard from my friends. Still, time is relative when your postpartum hormones crash and your infant is somewhere besides the nursery YOU prepared for him at YOUR house. 

However, in that week, the acts of kindness I knew are too many and magnificent to list here. Late-night calls from nurses just to let me know how Thomas was doing, extra time pediatricians spent answering my questions, and the forever amazing friends and family who dropped off meals, babysat my two other children, and kept me sane. 

Fast forward seven years. I fully believe that some of the kindness my son demonstrates today must have been "infused" in him through his contact with all those incredible people the first week of his life. I tend to over-complicate, overthink, and over-talk. Thomas is the diametric opposite. He keeps it simple, and he keeps it real. Of course, he's no saint. He bickers with his siblings quite a bit, and we've already tackled topics such as fibbing and sassing. Yet there are moments that he astounds me with how big his heart actually is. (And no, I don't mean the moments when he tells me I look gorgeous because he wants to use the Wii-U for 15 extra minutes.)

Fast forward again--to this week. It's been a whirlwind of emotions for many people. Whether you're ecstatic, dejected, optimistic, or pessimistic about the future, it may feel as if someone took your mood and transformed it into a ping pong ball. Unfortunately, I, for one, don't do well when my state of mind bounces too erratically. In some cases, I've even been known to project a little pent-up aggression on those nearest and dearest to me. Case in point . . . this past Wednesday.

I snapped, I sniffled, I rolled my eyes, and I lost patience over silly things like (literally) spilled milk. I argued with my husband and kids about the most ridiculous and mundane of issues, and I never felt like I came out winning or making any semblance of a point. (Perhaps it's because, in 90 percent of those cases, I probably picked the arguments in the first place.) When you're on that type of road, you know somewhere inside you that you need to pull over and turn off the ignition for a second. Unfortunately, I find that it's those situations when we all tend to accelerate--gun it until we crash. In any event, that is where I was headed. 

Then I got the picture. A portrait, made by none other than my son. The picture made me look a lot nicer than I had been to him all day . . . a lot more hopeful, too. He created it, he said, because he wanted to cheer me up.  He explained to me how he drew the eyes the way he did and why he picked a certain shade of brown for my hair. Suddenly, I went from wanting to lay into a punching bag to wishing I could hold him just a little bit closer for a little bit longer. And so I did. And so I turned off my ignition for a minute, restarted it, and started heading back to my happy place.

The game-changing kindness: Someone showed kindness to a person who perhaps (at that moment) didn't seem like she deserved it. 

How it changed the game: It demonstrated how something as simple as a Crayola masterpiece can change a person's perspective for the better. 

How it could change my/your game: Right now, we're living in a polarized world. We all put up walls that should never go up, and we all have the power to help other people tear their walls down. Sometimes a simple act of kindness can touch another person in a way you'd never even imagine. You may not see it immediately, but that doesn't mean it's not happening. And kindness doesn't translate into submission--you don't have to give up being with her or rooting for him. All it means is that you're supporting another human being who needs support . . . and exemplifying the way every American (and everyone for that matter) should behave.