"Lord Jesus,Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Help me! Help me! Help me!" Anne Lamott

One of my very favorite authors, Anne Lamott, says in her book “Traveling Mercies” that she has two simple prayers that she prays most of the time. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” and “Help me! Help me! Help me!” I read that book about ten years ago and by read, I mean listened to in the car on tape on my way to Kansas City. I remember driving into the outskirts of Kansas City and realizing that I had absolutely no memory of Omaha. And while that may cause you concern about my driving, it should give you an idea of what a great book it really is.


Sometimes in the craziness that is ordinary life, it’s hard to verbalize and articulate just what we want to tell our great God, so I have, on many occasions, plagiarized Ms. Lamott with my own heartfelt Thank you/Help me prayer. This week has been such a time.

As you all know, as everyone knows by now, my son Coulter started Kindergarten this past Monday. My husband and I were determined to keep it upbeat. We drove into the parking lot without much fanfare, except for a photography session fit for a star, and I really felt fine. A little nervous like I could have gotten sick at any moment, but not teary. Hooray for me! Then, as we turned the corner to find his line, I saw approximately 400 other children all ready to pounce and I just burst into tears. “Help me! Help me! Help me!” I realize it seems selfish to be praying for myself at a time like this, but trust me when I tell you, he was fine. And for the record, I did pray for him, just not at that particular moment.

I’m not completely sure why this is so hard. I do know that throughout the day and week, very well meaning friends and family have encouraged me with different variations of the same chorus. (I wanted to say different verses; same chorus, but that doesn’t make sense…I’m going for a “2nd verse; same as the 1st” kind of idea.)

“At least you still have your baby at home.”

“At least you only had to take one.”

“At least you’re getting to send him to Kindergarten; my baby is going to High School.”

“He’ll be fine. This is what you’ve prepared him for.”

And yet some days you don’t want to be cheered up and told how blessed you are and how great and wonderful this all is. Some days you just want to cry!

For 10 years I have been completely absorbed in the world of early childhood. I know little ones. I know what they should be doing; what they’ll probably be doing and what they should never be doing. I know what’s “normal.” I know what’s expected. I spend my days trying to encourage other mothers who are new at the whole baby/toddler thing and try to equip them with tools that make parenting easier. I know how to be the parent of a little one, but now that we’re in school, I feel completely lost and know that we’ve moved firmly out of my comfort zone and into a whole new world; an alien world.

This week alone, we’ve received PTA volunteer information, classroom party/homeroom mother information, star of the week dates, a book order and a request for a classroom supply donation (actually the donation is to help our teacher buy sanitizing spray which I am, of course, ever so happy to do!) I learned (the embarrassing way) that you can’t actually ride your bike on school property and that it’s cooler to get a hot lunch than to bring your own. Really? My son who basically has a three-meal rotation for lunch all of a sudden thinks he’s going to eat hot lunch? On Wednesday the menu was tacos with lettuce and cheese, green beans, a banana and milk. If, and that’s a strong assumption, if Coulter were able to delicately remove all of the lettuce then he might eat the meat. That’s it. I’m not proud of this, but I am certain of this and I’m worried that he’s going to be hungry all afternoon. But, you know, “everyone” else gets a hot lunch so there you go.

I received a note from Mrs. Hilbrands yesterday. Evidently there was a blue form that needed to be turned in two days ago. Furthermore, I learned that water for lunch has to be different than the water they keep on their desk. There are snacks buckets and email lists and oh my gosh, Help me! Help me! Help me! On a more positive note, Mrs. Hilbrands also said in her message that Coulter was doing well and that we would be so proud of him. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

In addition to starting Kindergarten, the school where I work moved into a new building and we are starting a new Kindermusik semester. I’m so tired that I can barely formulate a sentence. So, I’ll just wrap this up with a few prayers:

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for Coulter’s kind, patient and loving teacher.

Help me! Help me! Help me be a kind, patient and loving Mother to Coulter’s alien brother who arrives on the scene every afternoon about 4:00 p.m.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for a safe, warm and stimulating educational environment for Coulter.

Help! Help me! Help me be a kind, patient and loving Mother to Coulter’s alien brother who arrives on the scene every afternoon about 4:00 p.m.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you that Coulter is a bright, energetic, kind-hearted young boy.

Help me! Help me! Help me to remember that when his alien brother arrives….well you know….

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you to all my friends who have listened to my month long pity-party, but especially to our precious friend Nicole who never tried to talk me out of my sadness.

Help me! Help me! Help me to refrain from strangling the next person who talks to me about eagle’s wings and soaring and letting them fly. Seriously, I will do you bodily harm.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you that he is ready. Help me! Help me! Help me to become so myself.