Scratching the Itch

Those of you who are parents, especially those who are parents of multiple children, know that sick kids aren't much fun, and even less fun when all of your kids get sick at the same time. For all the things my three kiddos would fight to the death before they would share them with their siblings, it seemed like they were always more than willing to share head colds, stomach viruses, fevers, and all the other various and sundry illnesses they contracted when they were young. Some of those times when they were all sick at once I well remember, while others I've tried to erase from my memory ... like the time there were more people in our house throwing up than there were bathrooms ... gross, gross and a million times gross. But there's one childhood illness that managed to infect all of my children within just a few days of each other ... an illness that is so highly contagious we ended up being cooped up in the house for almost two weeks before it was all over. Yep, I'm talking about one of the most well-known of all the childhood illnesses ... the chicken pox.

Meghann was around two, I think, which would have made Brad about four and Matt around seven years old. Meg was the first of my three to develop the tell-tale red spots ... first on her tummy, then her back and then the rest of her body. A couple of days later, it was Bradley who said, "Mommie, I got bumps," and then a few days later, Matt succumbed as well. I remember filling the tub time after time for my little ones to soak in oatmeal baths, and I recall putting pink calamine lotion on their skin to help soothe the pain and itch caused by the dreaded pox. But the one thing I remember most about my kiddos and the chicken pox ordeal was that I said at least a gazillion times ... "Don't scratch!!! You can't scratch ... the spots will leave scars if you scratch! Whatever you do, don't scratch!!" And I also remember what my children's reply was ... often in unison ... "But they itch, Mommie ... they itch so bad! We need to scratch the itch."

I've been thinking about my children and the chicken pox time a lot for the last two or three days, mainly because I've got a bunch of mosquito bites on my legs and my back ... mosquito bites that itch like crazy. I must have walked through a swarm of the nasty bugs when I was out strolling after dark with Ollie a few nights ago, and they obviously mosquito-talked to one another and devised a plan to make me their late-night snack. Though I've tried my best not to scratch the itchy bites, I must confess that earlier today, I stood and rubbed my back against a door frame attempting to rid myself of the itchiness that was threatening to push me over the edge. And as I did, a thought ripped into my mind ... a thought that I immediately knew contained a giant lesson for me.

Though Matt had been exposed to the chicken pox many times, he didn't get them ... I even had him hug other kids trying to get him to catch the illness, but it never worked. I'm sure you're wondering why I would have done such a ridiculous thing ... trust me, I had a legitimate reason for wanting my kid to get sick. I was 11 years old when I had the chicken pox, and I remember it as being one of the worst experiences of my then young life. My mom used to say she had never seen anyone in her entire life who had such a terrible case of the pox as I did ... I even had the itchy bumps inside my mouth and nose, and on the bottoms of my feet. By the time Mattie was born, I had heard the tale again and again that older kids who caught the chicken pox were more likely to have a severe case than those who got them at a younger age. I remembered how awful I felt when I had the chicken pox, and I was trying to protect Matt from having the pox as badly as I did, hence my reason for exposing him time and time again when he was young. 

Here's the thing ... Meg had a very light case of the chicken pox, Brad had sort of a medium case, but Matt ... my poor Matt was literally covered from head to toe in the itchy, yucky sores, and he was one miserably sick boy. I couldn't make him well ... I couldn't make him have a lighter case ... I couldn't do one thing for him ... except ... love and care for my son. And here's the lesson ... the lesson that's going to stick with me for a long, long time. Sometimes it doesn't matter how hard I try to protect the people I love, there are times when there's nothing I can do except love and care for them. There are times when those whom I love just hurt ... just ache ... just have an itch they can't scratch. And it's those times ... those hurting, aching, itching times in life ... it's those times when the greatest way to scratch the itch is love.