The Pacifier and the Snapping Turtle

My seven year old daughter was the only child out of five who wanted a pacifier. I was glad that she did. She was a little fussy as a baby and the pacifier seemed to really soothe her. However, this lead to other issues. The pacifier pretty much dominated my every waking thought. Where was the pacifier? Did I have an extra in my purse? Did I pack an extra in the diaper bag? Glove compartment of both cars? My blue jean pocket? I became a little obsessive about the location of the pacifier. And you know, of course, Murphy's Law #201, when you need a pacifier - you can't find one. It doesn't matter how organized I tried to be about the spares, wherever we were, we were always scrambling for a pacifier.

So on our walk to the park that day, it wasn't surprising at all, as I loaded my daughter into the stroller for our walk around the pond, the only pacifier I could find was the one wedged firmly in her mouth. OK, I thought, we would be fine. Kylee has the paci in her mouth, this walk won't take twenty minutes. Just a quick stroll around the pond and over the bridge, a nice family outing.

My husband corralled our three boys. All I had to do was walk, push the stroller and WATCH THE PACIFIER. The walk started out pleasant enough. The weather was great, not too hot. We brought plenty of stale hamburger buns to feed the ducks. The boys were enthralled with the ducks and Kylee sat quietly sucking away on her paci.Because the outing was going so well (a rare occasion with three boys and a baby in a stroller - did I mention that I was pregnant with our final daughter too?) I let me gaurd down.

As we strolled up on the bridge that straddled the pond, I remember feeling the warm fuzzies. You know what I mean - especially if you are a mom. The warm fuzzies are the sappy, happy feelings that you get when your family is behaving, everyone is wearing shoes and fairly matching clothing, know one has cut a big chunk of their hair out lately and you feel as if you look like the perfect, happy little family. The warm fuzzies are usually an indicator that the bottom is going to drop out - soon.

As we reached the center of the bridge, we stopped to throw some more bread for the ducks. It was at that moment that it happened. My daughter reached up her pudgy little hand to me and grunted through her teeth, clenched firmly around the paci. She wanted more bread to push through the metal bars of the gaurd rail to feed the ducks. I guess I didn't hand her the bread quick enough, because the next thing I know, I am witnessing a gruesome scene of carnage and utter terror.

My daughter takes the pacifier from her mouth, rears back and tosses it out into the pond. As if that isn't trauma enough, a snapping turtle pops it head to the surface, grabs the pacifier and disappears into the depths of the murky water. I replay that scene over and over in my mind. My daughter stares into the pond with slight amusement. Slowly, the amusement turns to terror as she realizes that paci is gone, really gone. She turns her head from the pond to me. She looks at me with those huge puddly brown eyes and reaches toward the pond. "Paci", she says in a small, terrified voice. I immediately unstrap her from the stroller and hold her close. "Paci is gone gone." I tell her in mommy speak.

I know at this point that the outing is definitely over. I head back toward the car, with my daughter cradled in my arms. She begins to cry and I make small soothing hushing sounds. My boys stand dumbstruck for a moment, then hang their heads and head toward the car. They don't even put up a fight. The boys try to make her feel better. One son tells her that the snapping turtle was a mamma and needs a paci for a crying baby turtle on the bottom of the pond. My daughter is having none of it and continues to look to me for solutions.We return home, the drive was misery.

I fly from my seat to the house and locate a spare. My daughter goes from defcon 10 to all smiles as soon as she sees the pacifier. No more tears. More importantly, she looks at me with such gratitude. At that moment in time, I am her super hero. I wish I could freeze that moment.

You see, the obstacles get bigger as the kids get older. If only I could solve all of their problems by producing a spare pacifier. Unfortunately, I am no longer the super hero for my teenagers. I can't fix all of their problems anymore and it hurts. I crumble on the inside when any of my children are troubled or in pain. I want to fix it, produce a spare paci, and make it all better.

Parents are constantly doling out advice. It's part of the job description. Kids are constantly not listening, it's part of the job description. It would be so much easier if my kids could learn from the mistakes I have made in my life - but they can't. Just as I couldn't move fast enough to prevent Kylee from hurling her paci into the pond, I can't always catch my older kids from falling into situations that are not good for them. It's tough.I can't make it all better with the spare pacifier anymore. A strong shoulder and a hug will have to do.