I have become Jesus

Kids make their parents feel special. It’s an evolutionary trait that, along with cuteness, allows them to make it past their second birthday. They have no point of reference; you are the smartest/greatest person in their world, therefore the smartest/greatest thing in the world. They can make you feel like Einstein, Brad Pitt and Albert Pujols all in one afternoon. But lately, my boys have been making me feel like Jesus.

Like most kids, my boys tend to hurt themselves a lot. Not cutting themselves, jumping off the roof or voting Republican—just the normal things kids do to damage their bodies. We’ve seen our fair share of scrapped knees, bruises and knocks to the head in our house. Luckily, no one has been permanently damaged but it doesn’t sound like it. The amount of screaming that goes into simply falling down while running through the living room is epic and the speed at which that crying can stop once they feel “healed” can snap your neck. It is these “boo-boos” that has made me feel like the Messiah.

It started with our eldest, Big Bits. He was just getting to perfect the whole walking thing and when he would fall down, he would come screaming up to me and show me his “wound” and I would have to kiss it to get the yelling and carrying on to calm down. This seemed to happen nearly hourly. But, to be honest, it got old; I’m nearly six and a half feet tall and when he would stub his toe he expected me to bend down and kiss his foot. Yeah, that ain’t happening, kid. Plus we had our second child, Little Bits, when Big Bits was two years old and then I didn’t have the time or patience to put up with this malarkey so I took to kissing my fingers and then touching his wounds. This worked, both for him and me.

So Little Bits grew up seeing that if you fell down, Daddy kissed his own fingers and touched your owie and the world was a better place. He’s a second child and therefore learned to roll with the punches; he’s definitely the most chilled out of our kids. But when we had our third, Tiny Bits, I didn’t have the time for even that. Three kids of my own—and by that time I was babysitting our Godchild, Borrowed Bits—running through the house, all of them falling down all the time, I was happy to have time to breathe, let along play “kissy-kissy” with “boo-boos” left and right. Something had to change.

And something did: I became the Lord Christ.

It was Tiny Bits fault. He has been walking for several months but doesn’t have what you would call world class balance. Falling was a way of life for him. And although he falls down on all of his body, it is always his head that he grabs after getting up and says, “Owwwww…” He has gotten to the point where he doesn’t even cry; he just put his hand on the side of his head and comes to find me. The time when he made me divine I was working hard to get the dishes done before we had to go pick up Big Bits from school so that I could start on dinner as soon as we got back. I still had to empty and refill the dishwasher, make sure Little Bits, Borrowed Bits and Tiny Bits were dressed and shoed and I was running late. I was in a rush.

I heard Tiny Bits running from the living room to the kitchen (no matter how many times I try to convince him that running really is too advanced for him he won’t listen). His footfalls are my soundtrack lately. “Thump…thump…thump…bang!” I waited for the required three seconds and then came his call, “Owww…” I rolled my eyes and kept filling the dishwasher and soon enough he came into the kitchen, holding his head. “Owwww…”I saw him out of the corner of my eye and without thinking just held out my hand and grazed the top of his head as I dropped a plate into the dishwasher and went to grab another. I realized I hadn’t kissed my hand first (a capital offense to our older boys) and I went to correct my error but he was no where to be seen. I went to the hall and saw him running back into the living room, all filled with giggles and 18 month old happiness.

I looked down at my hand, almost for the first time. I had healed with a barely a touch. I didn’t need the medicine/magic of a Daddy Kiss. I didn’t need a bandage or major medical insurance. I could heal the sick with my touch. I was one with God/The Universe/Flying Spaghetti Monster (fill in your deity/non-deity of choice)!

I had to rethink my god-like status a few moments later when I realized that Tiny Bits and Borrowed Bits had both dropped major stinkies and we were really running late now. I grabbed babies, diapers and wipes and got down to work. Something tells me a god could have finished this job faster and better than I did. I guess an almost god’s work is never done.