They Call me "Mom" or "Moses" ("Momses?")

Strange the things moms will do when they're worried about their kids.

Background: My youngest girl has been having some arrhythmia over the past few months--mild, intermittent episodes coupled with some other worrisome symptoms. To make a long story short, she has had an EKG, chest-ray, lab work done, and is now wearing a heart monitor. We have no idea what's going on but trust that it's going to be OK.

However, we are talking about the Crow household here, so even in the midst of this time of concern, jokes are flying. It's what we do.

For instance, one night she was being ornery, and I told her that for dinner, I was fixing her fettuccine alfredo. I asked, "Do you know why?" and she replied, "No." I said, "Because they call it 'heart attack on a plate.'" She laughed a big outburst belly laugh because she's warped like we are.

Another time, she was looking over some birthday clothes I recently bought. Like most kids, she wanted to wear one piece early. She said, "Can I wear this now?" I said, "It's not your birthday yet." And she said, "It could be my 'Sorry You're Having a Heart Attack' gift."

But I do worry about her, of course. Because beneath all of my snark and immaturity, I am a momma. And she is my baby.

So this morning, running late, she zipped past me, and I called after her, "Do you have your yearbook money? Kleenex? (She has a cold.) Do you have your lunch money? Why aren't you wearing warmer clothes?" (We had a visible frost.)

George reminded me that she would need to scrape the frost off of her windows. In an instant, I pictured her in thin clothing, nose running, heart monitor beeping, and her scraping like she was in Siberia. I couldn't stand it.

So I threw on my large robe and went out to check on her, keeping a copy of a John Ortberg sermon I had printed off in my hand because in my haste, I didn't lay the sermon down.

She was in the car with tiny portholes scraped right in front of her face and one on the passenger side.

Good grief.

I made her hand me the scraper, and I scraped as she sat inside warming up the car. Finally, I decided that was enough.

Well, actually, she opened her door and said, "MOM! I'm going to be late!" so I stopped.

And then I saw a passer-by looking at me from the road. What they saw: A barefoot woman in a large white robe holding a stack of paper in one hand and a scraper in the air in the other hand.

And then it hit me: I look like Moses--Ten Commandments in one hand, raised staff in the other, barefooted, robed in white like he was on top of the mountain, very intense.

And then I high-tailed it back in my house because-wowee, frost hurts bare feet once you're off the mountain and your kid is pulling away.

Moral of the story: Strange the things moms will do when they're worried about their kids.

Can you relate?