Horton Teaches a Lesson

I come from a long line of readers. I think my love of reading is just as genetic as my diabetes, judging by the bookcase full of heirloom novels in the middle of my kitchen, most of them bearing either a grandparent or a great-grandparent's signature. My Grandma Burningham taught me appreciation for a good love story. My Grandma Browning taught me how to find an interesting storyline and how it is sometimes necessary to read a book with a pencil and highlighter in hand. My father taught me a love for history and nonfiction and a need to seek truth in what I let into my mind.

But it was my mother who first taught me how good a book can feel in your hands.

My childhood was full of board books and picture books, of Arthur and the Berenstain Bears and Mercer Mayer's Little Creature and Disney Princesses and Goodnight Moon and all of these books that I find myself searching for on the library shelves so that I can read them to my daughter. I am not naive enough to think that I can force her into loving reading--my younger siblings have taught me that sometimes a love of reading just doesn't come as naturally as I think it should--but I am going to do everything in my power to guide her into literary enjoyment. I am happy to report that she has progressed from eating her books to opening them up, turning the pages, and saying, "Da da dad da da!" at the top of her lungs.

Saturday is a major holiday. One of my favorites. Some call it "Read Across America Day." To me it is better known as "HAPPY DR. SEUSS APPRECIATION DAY!"

We have been preparing for the last two weeks by reading some of my favorite Dr. Seuss books and watching the movies of said books that I actually approve of (did you catch that the main character's name in The Lorax is Ted? As in short for Theodor? As in Dr. Seuss's real name? I am extremely proud of myself for putting that together).

And in the midst of this preparation, I learned that Dr. Seuss knows a thing or two about mothering. And the best example of a mother I've ever found in literature is a two-ton male elephant.

So here's what was happening in my life this week. Or more like the last month. Actually, the last six months.

I have this daughter that refuses to adopt a bedtime routine. Heck, most nights lately she refuses to sleep more than an hour or two at a time. And after too many interrupted nights, I was starting to feel like a zombie AND the worst mom on the planet (a dangerous combination). I actually wrote an email to my husband saying, "perhaps she should be an only child because I clearly can't do this mom thing right." After all, all the parenting books say that getting a baby to sleep at night should be a breeze, you just have to follow steps A, B, C. And it seems all of my friends and family members know how to get their babies to sleep. Twelve. Hours. A. Night. So the problem must be me, right?

Right.

Then, on Tuesday afternoon, as I'm trying to get my teething child to calm down for a few minutes, I pull out the last of the unread Dr. Seuss books from our recent trip to the library. I sit down near where Kevin is playing on the floor and open it up.

"Horton Hatches the Egg," I read, and then turn to her and say, "This is Grandma Burningham's favorite."

And it only takes me a few pages in to understand why my mom loves this book so much.

"Sighed Mayzie, a lazy bird hatching an egg:
"I'm tired and I'm bored 
And I've kinks in my leg
From sitting, just sitting here day after day."

I know how that feels, I think. I am tired and I am bored. My legs are screaming for exercise but the weather is too cold and the air too crummy to take Kevin outside for a walk.

"It's work! How I hate it!
I'd much rather play!
I'd take a vacation, fly off for a rest
If I could find someone to stay on my nest!"

It is work, I think. But this is where Mayzie and I differ...because I don't hate it. I'd like a vacation, but I am so glad I don't have to find someone to stay on my nest!

Through the next few pages, an unassuming Horton wanders past, and Lazy Mayzie cons him into sitting on her egg, saying she "won't be gone long, sir. I give you my word. I'll hurry right back. Why, I'll never be missed."

But she is missed. If not by her egg, then by the person solely in charge of watching her egg. Because Horton, he sits there, day after day. He makes the tree a home. And then he puts all of his energy into nurturing the egg. And he sat and he sat and he sat and he sat. But it wasn't lazy sitting. It was active sitting. Through thunder and lightning, sleet and snow, cold and wet. And when springtime came, everyone around him just made fun of what he was doing, telling him it was absurd and he wasn't meant to be there and how funny that he would do such a thing.

"And Horton was lonely. He wanted to play. 
But he sat on the egg and continued to say:
'I meant what I said
And I said what I meant....
An elephant's faithful
One hundred percent!"

And as I continued to read, I could see how my situation and Horton's weren't all that different, except that Kevin is my baby and nobody else's. But even if she were adopted, she would still be mine and nothing would change. I said I wanted to be her mom before she came and I never want to take it back. And some days that means sitting through some pretty awful conditions, like teething and colds and runny noses and temper tantrums and days without naps and nights without REM sleep cycles. And Mayzie was right, because it is work, just sitting here day after day. And sometimes people laugh and they all run away and you sit there lonely. Sometimes they make you feel like you can't do anything right. You want to play, too. You want to be valued and feel like you are doing what you were meant to do. You want to know that what you are doing is right.

And maybe Horton reached a point where he felt like he wasn't good at his job at all. Fifty-one weeks is a long time to do something without feeling like you are getting any results. That's how long Horton sat on his egg before Mayzie reappeared (not through any effort of her own). That's how old my baby will be in two days.

And that's when the egg cracked. And Mayzie claimed it again.

"(The work was all done. Now she wanted it back.)
'It's my egg!' she sputtered. 'You stole it from me!
Get off of my nest and get out of my tree!'

Poor Horton backed down
With a sad, heavy heart...

But at that very instant, the egg burst apart!
And out of the pieces of red and white shell,
From the egg that he'd sat on so long and so well,
Horton the Elephant saw something whizz!
IT HAD EARS
AND A TAIL
AND A TRUNK JUST LIKE HIS!

So maybe it's my fault she is how she is. Maybe I don't always know how to help her the best. But I'm working on it, and I'll do it for as long as it takes. Maybe someday she'll get something from me.

At some point, I stopped reading out loud. And at another point, Kevin crawled over to me and climbed on my lap. And she looked at me and let me know that I should keep going. Out loud. Because it wasn't the story she cared about. It was my voice. It was me.

Maybe she is what I am meant to do with my life.

"And it should be, it should be, it SHOULD be like that!
Because Horton was faithful! He sat and he sat!
He meant what he said
And he said what he meant....
....And they sent him home
Happy
One hundred per cent!"

And yesterday I realized that despite all my feelings of inadequacy, I can still be happy, even if it isn't one hundred percent. Because as my sickly baby and I cuddled on the couch, I looked down and saw this.

So, I may be the source of her problems. I fully admit that. I am the one responsible for messing her up. But I am also the one responsible for helping her grow and be good.

 I am there for her.

One Hundred Percent.

Note: This post is not meant to be a commentary on working moms vs. stay-at-home moms in any way, shape, or form. Working moms can be Horton moms too! I fully believe that!