On Mother’s Day, I found myself gripping a steel bar, fighting the urge to pass out from the terror that filled me. Beside me, my five year old was laughing hysterically.

How had I arrived at this moment?

With children spanning the years between preschool and teen, it is always a challenge to find an activity everyone will enjoy. I had decided that a trip to an amusement park would provide entertainment for all ages.

I am not a ride lover, but the idea of walking around in the sunshine, with every child in a good mood, seemed like an exceptional gift.

My gift turned on me when my husband took my teen to ride the roller coasters, leaving the three youngest in my charge. My five year old, despite my frantic attempt to spike his hair with mom spit, was an inch too short to get on several rides without an adult. I looked around for a grown-up who might want to earn some extra cash but they all seemed annoyingly consumed with their own children.

I sighed, resigned to my fate, and tried to identify the most innocuous ride. A brightly painted red flower with attached carts seemed mellow enough.

My six and ten year olds jumped into an open car and my five year old ran to a vacant one in the rear. I hesitantly sat down next to him. He clapped in excitement. I triple checked to make sure the bar was securely fastened.

The ride began. We slowly spun in a wide circle. I started to relax. The sun was peeking through the trees. A cool breeze tickled my cheeks. I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment.

The ride lurched and suddenly I felt myself being lifted into the air. My eyelids ripped open. The sun bore down oppressively as we rapidly soared high above tree level. The wind, at this layer of the atmosphere, had a biting chill.

I shrieked. The five year old laughed.

The ride relentlessly rose and dropped in and out of the cloud cover.

“Find your happy place. Find your happy place!” I began chanting wildly, gripping the steel bar.

“Lollipops and unicorns,” my son helpfully suggested while waving his hands gleefully in the air.

I momentarily forgot my paralyzing fear, surprised that a preschooler understood that phrase. It made me wonder if my crazy behavior sent him searching for his happy place often.

The ride jerked again and I instantly forgot his possible need for therapy as my own psychosis resumed.

“Lollipops and unicorns. Lollipops and unicorns!” I yelled.

Behind closed lids, I tried to conjure up the image of a horned horse sucking a tootsie pop, but instead, kept visualizing my five year old’s confident face.

This week, for Mother’s Day, his preschool teacher had asked each child what their mom had taught them and then she revealed the answers at a mama tea party.

Questions like this always make me break into a sweat. An internal filter is not properly installed in this child.

My five year old could blurt out one of many things including how I accidentally taught him his first curse word or how he learned to put store bought cookies in a tupperware container to pass off as homemade.

But when my son’s turn came he said, “My mom taught me how to be brave.”

Tears.

Just when you think your kiddos are only soaking in your screw-ups, you find they are watching the good stuff too.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Psalm 56:3

Days earlier my ferocious five year old had been forced to face his biggest fear.

The dentist.

The same child, who at this moment, sat to my left, arms raised in gutsy defiance, had crippling anxiety about having his teeth cleaned. But in order to attend kindergarten, he needed a complete dental exam. We had been to two dentists, neither of whom had successfully gotten him to sit in the chair without a complete breakdown.

I contacted a third office. We arrived in the parking lot, favorite stuffed animal and blankie in hand. He tried so hard to look brave but his lower lip quivered.

I said, “Remember how God is always with us? Let’s ask God to give you courage.” We prayed in the minivan and walked in, hand and hand. He sat on my lap in the chair, holding on for dear life, but mouth opened wide.

The ride lurched up and down, tearing me back to my current perilous state. I still clung with both hands on the bar, but I managed a smile for my seatmate.

If he could do brave, I could do brave.

He pumped his fist in the air. Together we continued to fly in and out of shadows.

After a few more minutes of “doing brave,” I was done. Quota met. Life lesson internalized. Get me down!

I looked for the ride operator and found him relaxing against the fence, obliviously chatting with a lady in line.

I had said hello as we entered, but failed to notice his name tag.

“Bob?” I took a stab in the dark. “Time to stop the ride Bob!”

Apparently sound waves couldn’t travel from this distance or his name was not Bob.

Not one to give up easily, I continued shouting random names.

“Fred…..Edward….Cliff….”

Not even a gaze in my direction.

The five year old found this hysterical and joined in the fun.

“Chris…Mark….Bart…” he screamed.

“Englebert Humperdink…..” I roared to the heavens.

He was doubled over laughing.

“Genglefert Cumberfink…..” he chortled.

Nailed it! Instantly the ride began to slow and settled onto the ground. Geez, must be tough finding a mug with that name on it.

My grip eased. Solid ground. Praise the Lord!

I stood up and wobbly unhooked the bar.

“That was great!” my son said as he scrambled out of the seat.

“Let’s do it again!”

Oh mamas, it’s so easy to focus on the all ways we mess up as parents. Fall short. Mistakes we’ve made. But take heart. Those little eyes and ears are watching and learning the good stuff too. There is nothing that requires more bravery than helping a child navigate their way through this world. The good news is, we don’t have to do it alone. 

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Psalm 56:3