7 Minutes of Buried Emotion

I find myself scoping out all the local spots to see if they might be a good fit for my FOUR children and me this summer. Today was no different.

We headed to our favorite water park and had a blast. I kept thinking about how my Eastern European children might do. Would they be scared of the water? Would they be scared of the PEOPLE? (A doctor told me that they might be shocked at how disgustingly gluttonous Americans are.) Could they keep up with the raging wave pools? Could I keep up with 2 additional kids? It's at the forefront of my mind when I'm out in public. Places with water in south Texas in the summer are ridiculously crowded, generally. How could I keep up with these kids? I've already been taught, in the orphan training, that they might venture off often. But, we just LOVE going to the water park!

Then, it happened.  

My kid disappeared. One minute he's there. The next minute, he's gone. How could this be? I'm only a few yards away, watching both of them. His 10 year old brother was supposed to be with him at all times, but he ran to me to tell me about the "epic waves". In that millisecond, my baby disappeared. The emotions that followed, in the next SEVEN (long. crazy long.) minutes were off the chart. FEAR. EXTREME FEAR. THIS PARK WAS CROWDED. 
                                                              VERY CROWDED. 
I didn't think he had drowned, as he's a great swimmer. No... by minute 2 I had already come up with a detailed story in my mind that included a big, ugly man taking him out of the park, screaming and kicking. The man would tell the park employees that he's just his spoiled, little son who didn't want to leave the park. He'd be in Mexico within 2 hours and officially be a sex traffic statistic. 

By minute 4, I felt the tears, behind my sunglasses, drop into the water - as I wondered how my life would even be able to continue, without him in it. My other son and I scanned the huge wave pool and waves, looking for a glimpse of my little guy. Finally he asked if he could go to nearby attraction and look. I had to stay behind, in case my baby came back, looking for me. By minute 6, my mind story included a lady telling my baby that his mom had left the park and she was supposed to take him to her. He would hold her hand and innocently leave the park and our lives would be devastated. 

While these minutes passed, the outside of me was pretty calm... except for my hidden tears. My mind was frantic, but my body was another mom in the mass of humans, looking around. Oh, and a man next to me lost his kid (for a brief moment) and I determined that there was a ring of abductors... until he found his kid, standing behind him. I started wondering if I should notify a life guard. I mean, what could he do? People. Everywhere. Should I go to the exit and see if I can find him and "his abductor"? There are too many exits. My child knows where our bag is and I need to be there if he comes back.

Then I saw both my kids walking toward me. I didn't think my brain could hold as many emotions as it did at that moment. Relief. Frustration. Emotional exhaustion.

When we got in the car, this cool, calm and collected mama let those emotions out with gigantic tears. When we got home, they each wrote an essay about the event and what could have been done differently. (Yes, I was exhausted and that was the first thing out of my mouth.)

Needless to say, I don't think I will be taking all 4 kids to a water park this summer without another adult (or 4!). I wish I had a friend nearby, with a pool in her backyard. These host children could enjoy the water and I could keep my sanity.

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.  Matthew 6:34