Opinion : Chocolate milk and Cheer

Proverbs 17:22 "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones."

Because of a series of events which include a cancer diagnosis in the extended family, I get to babysit one of my preschool granddaughters. To do so, this requires four hours in the car of retrieving and returning with the said granddaughter, so it's not a mere run across town and pick up the child, this is a commitment. But something I'm so willing to do. 

This granddaughter is wise far above her years, and has been present for more trauma than I have experienced in my lifetime. As a baby, I sat with her as she cried for her mommy, and spent most days crying along with her every time a loud noise sent her into a tailspin. 

On the trip home last week it came up in discussion. "When I lived in Vinton, the mean man that was married to mommy, did he ever hurt me?" That was a question I didn't see coming. I assured her that her mommy protected her and ran away from that mean man, and mommy didn't give him a chance to hurt her. As she sat in her car seat, I could see in the rearview mirror that she was pondering that information. 

Hoping that I had the right answer, I changed the topic to her new dog. At the same time my mind went back to the early days of her life. 

Many days as I held her as a baby, all I could do was sing to her, and pray. And pray. And pray. I prayed that God would heal the little heart of this baby and her mommy. I asked that He would also heal the minds and emotions of both. The physical wounds still cause issues. But I also asked God to take away the tears and replace them with laughter. 

On our way home she had a list of things that she wanted to do in Vinton. First, she wanted to see her cousins. All of them, and go to their houses. Second, she wanted to visit some more distant cousins. Thirdly, she wanted to go and see Christmas lights. Then she wanted to see where mommy used to work, where she used to live and etc. The Dalmatian at the fire station, the butterfly by city hall, and the house where grammy grams lived when she was a little girl is all being rattled off from my co-pilot in the backseat. We have a tour planned when she's in town. 

So this week, we've been making a list and checking it twice. In the course of the few days we spent together, she got to visit with Santa. But before we got out of the car, she needed to know if this was the REAL Santa or just one that "has a stretchy beard on." I told her that we'd have to ask him. So, we pulled up in front of Fareway, to see Santa. A fellow who constantly amazes me with his memory of children each year. I explained that she wanted to know if he was the real one. Of course, he assured her that he was. I took my pictures and we returned to the car. Later that night just before she fell asleep I heard her whisper, "What was Santa doing at Fareway anyway?" The kid is not a pushover. 

On to the Christmas light part of her tour we drive past her old houses, and "Doug's house" and the houses of her two small friends, the names of which have vanished from both our memories. The lights this year included all of the wonderful homes that we could find on our quest. We made a stop at the two Seller houses which sport the singing lights.

The first night, we stopped at both and she was oddly miffed at the suggestion that a child would have the audacity to toot while sitting on Santa's lap, as was suggested in one of the songs. The second night, she'd had chocolate milk which she knows will cause gastric discomfort, but who doesn't love chocolate milk once in a while? As we got into the car, she said, "I think we should go to the lights where Santa Claus got tooted on." So we headed to Dakoda's house. We waited and waited and waited for the song. It began. As soon as she heard the kids singing, she commented, "Boy it sure is a good thing that I don't have to sit on Santa's lap tonight!" Which of course made us both laugh. 

She squealed with laughter as the song hit the chorus, "I farted on Santa's lap..." and I could only remember just a few years ago my prayer for joy to fill this little heart. All the way home I heard the line sung loudly accompanied by more laughter. There was a discussion about beans and chocolate milk and how poor Santa must cry "pee-yoo" sometimes. Then it went into why doesn't her tummy like chocolate milk and why sometimes she won't drink it because she knows the side effects.

She continued to sing the refrain so loudly as we got out of the car that it brought the neighbor to the door. They were treated to the same refrain at the top of her lungs, "I farted on Santa's lap," followed by all kinds of giggles each time. For the record, it takes about six rounds of this line to get her and grandma into the house after gathering all of the paraphernalia that the child collected on this trip around town.

So when I get the chance to see this preschooler giggle, no actually this time squeal in laughter over a silly thing like being lactose intolerant, I'm up for it. Sure, I could fill her head with more useful information, and I have. But sometimes I also need to hear the laughter of this child. 

I'm reminded once again, that God does answer prayer, even if it is in the form of chocolate milk and a goofy Christmas song.  Don't judge me too hard if you hear me singing the same refrain and smiling. If you do, know that it's because of all the above.