I'm Not Chubby

Another tear jerking moment, my dear friends. This one took place just moments ago. As Katie and Ella are now outside enjoying a bit of this gorgeous June evening, I found myself running to the computer to share this latest story with you. I am so afraid of the memory falling into that empty pit in my mind that I just had to write this down. 

You see . . . I'm not chubby.

At least, not in the eyes of my Katie.

And that, my friends, has my very own eyes filling up with tears as I type.

A short while ago, I stood at our kitchen sink, cleaning our dinner dishes and glancing up out the kitchen window every few seconds, as that golden hour of sunlight tickled the top of our back yard lawn. Suddenly, the front screen door stretched open and I could hear Katie and Ella running into the house. "Mommy!!!" "Mom!!" "Mom, I didn't say it!!!" "Mom, Mom, Mom . . . Ella said something mean about you," and even other exclamations were heard as Katie and Ella made their way into the kitchen.

"Mommy, I didn't say it. It was an accident," Ella said. Ella is at that stage in life when everything she does that might hurt or harm someone is an 'accident', even when you know very well that it was not.

"Mom, Ella just said something really mean about you," said Katie, my sensitive one.

"What happened, honey?" I asked Katie.

"Mom, we were all outside playing and we were saying 'the tree is chubby', and 'that blade of grass is chubby' and 'that bird is chubby', when Ella said, "Mommy is chubby'." Katie's eyes were as wide as can be, and I could tell that this really bothered her.

"No, I didn't, Mom," demanded Ella, "it was an accident. I didn't mean you. I meant that robot Mommy." 

That explanation, alone, made me chuckle inside. Robot Mommy? Hmmm . . .wonder where that one came from and why she wasn't here doing the dishes.

"Well, Katie," I said, "while that might not have been the nicest thing Ella could have said, it is true. I am chubby. And as you both know, people come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Mommy is chubby. I'm working on not being chubby, but now . . . this is me, and I am chubby."

And what happened next . . . is what I really never expected. Katie, my sensitive one, started to cry. I mean really cry. Big crocodile tears.

"But Mom," she said, "you aren't chubby . . . you are perfect. Just perfect Mom. You aren't chubby," she repeated, over and over, as she walked across the kitchen and buried her crying eyes in my chest. "She shouldn't have said that," said Katie.

My eyes filled up with tears. And Ella, my dramatic one, turned and ran upstairs as she screamed the most dramatic cry imaginable . . . one that might have you thinking someone just said something about her. Which, I guess, is exactly what happened.

I knelt down on the floor and Katie just sobbed in my chest. I kept telling her it was ok, that people come in all shapes and sizes, and that we needed to teach that to Ella, when she said, "But Mom, I just don't like that she said that." I asked her why it bothered her so much, and she said, "Because I love you, and I don't want anyone to ever hurt your feelings. And I bet that hurts your feelings."

I'm telling you . . . if I could have bottled up that little girl and kept her on a shelf to stay this way for ever, I would have. Just when I think I love them as much as I possibly can, they go and do something that makes me love them even more.

After a good 5 minutes of hugs, dish towel tear wipes, and kisses on the forehead, my sensitive one was ready to return outside.

Then it was time to teach. Boy oh boy, I know that no one said it was easy. But it sure is hard . . . teaching. . . teaching a young child how to treat others, helping them understand how their words can hurt. And teaching them to think before saying something that might hurt someone. Off I went.

I found Ella sitting on the stairs, with her head buried in her lap and arms. She wanted nothing to do with me, and she certainly didn't want any lesson from me. So I knelt on the stair and waited. As the minutes passed and I called out her name, I could see how badly she felt. Perhaps the lesson had already begun.

"Ellie," I told her, "I want you to know that I love you. And I know that you did not mean to hurt Mommy. I want you to know that no matter what happens in life, I will always love you." With each word I spoke, she scooted her little bottom closer to me.

"I want you to remember something, though. There are lots of different people in this world, honey. There are big people. There are little people. There are short people. There are tall people. There are yellow people, and orange people, and brown people. . . "

"And red people?" she asked.

". . . and red people," I continued, "and all of these people have feelings. And saying something about someone can really hurt their feelings. In our house, we love all people. And I want you to know that I will always love you. For as long as I live, I will do my very best to never say anything to hurt your feelings.  Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes, Mommy," she answered.

"What you said was true, honey," I continued, "Mommy is chubby. But, those words hurt Mommy. Because maybe Mommy doesn't want to be chubby. Maybe Mommy feels being chubby is a bad thing. So, when you say that, it hurts my feelings."

"Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes, Mommy," she answered.

"Good. Now, let's go have a sip of water, and you can go back outside and play," I said.

After washing our faces and having a cold glass of water, Ella was ready to return to her sissy and her friends. And I felt like we had just gone through a very valuable lesson in our home. Minutes after she returned outside, she came back in and squeezed me from behind as I stood at the kitchen sink. "I love you, Mommy," she said, "even if you aren't chubby." And with a quick spin she was off, back outside playing.

Yes, it's ok. I may be chubby. But in the eyes of my daughters, I'm perfect.

And in my eyes, they are pretty perfect, too.