The Emory Kiss, the Emory Squeeze

During college I earned pocket money by working summers and afternoons at a local daycare. It was a wonderful job. Thanks to some "black belt"
co-workers who shared their considerable know-how, I am a better mom than I would have been without that work experience. The kids gave my college days some comic relief but also put a splash of reality into all those education classes I was taking. I still think about specific kids and parents, wondering where they are now and hoping they are doing well. I waited so long to get married and start a family that now some of the "babies" probably have children older than mine -- a stunning thought.

There's one family that I probably think of the most often. Funny -- I don't even remember the mom's name anymore. But the baby's name was Emory. He was a funny little chap, chubby and pale with fine black hair that stood up all over like a muppet. He started at the daycare fairly young and was an only child, yet his mom was laid back. She was one of my favorite moms, the kind that didn't just "grab and go." Although she was never picky or overbearing, she wanted to know how his nap went, what he ate, what he enjoyed each day. She thought everything he did was interesting and funny. One day I teased her, "You're pretty easygoing for a new mom." She paused for a long time and then said, "Well, I've done this before." It turned out that Emory's dad was her second husband, Emory her second baby. The first family was lost instantly in a car wreck. She didn't tell the details and I didn't ask. All I knew was that she was the only one who survived, alone and in unbelievable heartache. Yet here she was, happy again and peaceful despite her losses. She was in love with her two new guys and with Life. I deeply admired her for her resilience and attitude. A few weeks later, I helped her carry some things out to her car and watched while she strapped Emory into his car seat. She leaned over and gave him a big smooch on the head before she closed the car door. She explained, "I always do that -- kiss him. In this world, you just never know."

Emory's mom came to mind on the cement sidewalk outside the hospital where my child was born. The day had finally come to take our new baby home and I watched Brian strap tiny, vulnerable Eli into his car seat for the first time. Even though I was going to sit in the backseat for the ride home, I simply had to kiss Eli before we drove off. My first Emory Kiss.

For half a decade now, I've always always always kissed Eli after putting him in his car seat or before he leaves the house with somebody else. Brian too. I've been known to chase after my guys -- barefooted into the chilly garage or out into the rainy driveway if they're so hurried that they forgot their smooches. The Emory Kiss. Just in case.

Then a few weeks ago, Eli's fingers finally grew long enough and strong enough that he could buckle his own car seat. Let me tell you, it was a bizarre feeling after five years to suddenly be relieved of my buckle-up duties. In parking lots I escort him safely to his side of the car, but in this winter weather he often scurries in and slams the door. From the driver's seat I can reach far enough to check his straps, but not far enough for a smooch. The first few times I felt like somebody who forgot their wedding ring or their purse -- something basic and personally crucial left off. I soon realized that for all those years the Emory Kiss was a gift to Eli, but it was also a gift to myself. It gave me a pause to put things in perspective. If I was feeling hurried or frazzled or irked, those feelings usually fell a notch or two. It reminded me of how good yet fleeting and fragile life is.

Once Eli learned to buckle his own seat, a few times I made him stick out his hand so I could give it a kiss from the front seat. It made him giggle, probably because it didn't feel quite right to him either. Nope. Hand smooching was neither comfortable nor sustainable. Then I instinctively took to reaching back to squeeze Eli's ankle. He and I talked about the squeeze standing in for the kiss, which was fine with him. Yeah, I still prefer a smooch -- and still sneak one in if I can. I love my child's soft cheek and the smell of his hair. But the Emory Squeeze says the same thing as the Emory Kiss: "At this moment, before you start out into this uncertain world, hear one more time how much you are loved." And since the squeeze is a little more stealthy (and thus more tolerable when buddies are around), perhaps I can get away with it at least until Eli leaves for college? A mama can hope.

One shoe off and one shoe on...deedle, deedle dumpling, my son Eli! January of 2009.

Emory and family...
Whenever you all are, I hope you are all happy and healthy. In the eighteen plus years of his childhood, I hope every Emory Kiss was followed by one more.