We Make A Good Team

This man and I, we make a good team.

At times it may seem that I am the tad more controlling member in this relationship. While it is true that I make most of the day to day decisions, Brandon is the one that makes the bigger decisions in our marriage.

Where we live - Brandon
When we have kids - Brandon
Where our kids go to school - Brandon

What we will have for dinner - Amy
What social events we will attend this month - Amy
What color to paint our house - actually it's 50/50

We usually balance each other out, except when it comes to cars. We are a bit impulsive in the car buying department, always have been! In our 13 years of marriage there was the 95 Ford Explorer, the 98 Jeep Cherokee, the Jeep Laredo that we actually took back, and the 08 Toyota Highlander Hybrid. And those are just the impulse cars, not the ones we actually kept and used.  Don't let either of us onto a carlot - it is our kryptonite!

The place where we really make a good team is in parenting.  In the last 6 years we have been blessed with 3 wonderful, wildly active, fearless boys, who have caused us quite a few sleepless nights.  But we handle it together in our own way.

Case in Point:

On Sunday night, 2 days into our vacation, we are outside riding bikes. The boys are riding and I am taking pictures.  After a few very fun times around the loop I hear a crash and then immediate crying.  By this time, I was sitting on the ground picking at my toe nail polish. And yes, this next part will cause a few of you to think bad of me (my sister for sure!) but I did not instantly jump up and run to the boys. I took a moment to take a breath, listen to see who was crying, and wait to hear how bad it was.  And it was bad.

"AMY" Brandon yells, and I know I am needed. I do get up, still no running as I was wearing flip flops, and walk down to the crash site. Along with 2 other dads who have come running to help.

As I near the boys, Jack holds up his hand and cries, "I fractured my ankle!" I think he means wrist and he looks okay. But Micah is not. When Brandon turns Micah to me I see blood in his mouth and a scrape on his cheek.

"What happened?" I ask.
"They CRASHED into each other!"
"What did Micah hit?"
"They CRASHED!"
"I know that, but what part of Micah got hurt, did he hit his head?"
"They CRASHED!!"

At this point I just pick up Micah and start the walk back to our rental, Brandon is trying to carry Jack and push his bike (with Finn in the trailer) back to the house. One of the other dad's offers to walk the bike, and Finn, back; while the other dad brings the boys' bikes.

In the moment I am the one that is calm. Brandon is the one that freaks out.  Should we go to the ER? Does he have a concussion? Is he okay?

We call the on-call doctor, put ice on Micah and hold him until he calms down. After Micah is tucked into bed, I look and Brandon and tell him it will be okay. It was awful, he says, still shook up over watching the crash.

Fast-forward two days. By now we realize that the crash will have some lasting effects. Micah's right side of his face is swollen and his mouth is black and blue inside.  As I turn and look at his little body and see the expression on his face, I realize something needs to be done.

"We need to go to the ER" I tell Brandon as we are sitting at the pool.
"What will the ER be able to do? He calmly asks and then suggests maybe a Pediatric Dentist would be a good idea.
"What WILL a dentist do?? He needs help now??" I might be a little bit shrieky right now.
"Okay, I will see what's available"

And with that, Brandon locates a Pediatric Dentist, has a phone consult and gets an appointment for the next day. All is calm then, until we hear the news that all 4 top teeth will need to be removed.  I want to wait until we return home and get a second opinion. After much discussion, Brandon just states it needs to be done now. And, like that, the appointment is made.

Now I am a crying mess.  I can not let go of Micah's baby teeth. I love them. And yes, I know it sounds crazy, but I was devastated at the idea that the teeth would be gone. No more little grins from Micah with those perfectly spaced baby teeth poking through.

Brandon calmly listens to me cry and then said he would take Micah to the appointment. And once again, I felt like the bad mom. I should be there, I should go with him and hold his hand. Instead I went inside and watched a show with my oldest while my baby had his teeth removed. Extracted, as they say. This is the moment that I am so thankful for Brandon as he held Micah's hand, and comforted him, and watched as the dentist used needle nose pliers on his perfect little teeth.

In the moment of crisis, I am able to stay calm and make decisions. In the aftermath when all my crazy fears and worries come rushing in, Brandon is the one who is calm and clear.

In that, we are the perfect team, and I couldn't be more blessed.