When life hands you lemons, don't suck on them.

Sean, contemplating lemons, Jenny Kelly, 2008

I've come to see lemons as gifts with very annoying wrapping paper.
And now--since I'm so old and wise--when I get beaned by a lemon, I look out for God dropping a five pound bag of sugar. Okay, I don't know where the water enters this analogy, but ignore that. Oh wait, the water is my tears. Ha ha.
No--don't hit the back button! I'm not ususally that hokey.

Today I got hit twice with an old, familiar lemon.
I call it the Hill From Hell (HFH)
On school days my husband, Rob, and I walk our kids to school with a bunch of other neighborhood parents. It is like having coffee with friends, but without the benefit of caffeine and with a lot of huffing and puffing.
The elementary school sits on top of the HILL FROM HELL (H.F.H.). Any more steep and long and I would refuse to walk it. But altitude aside, we live close to the school so it feels pretty lazy to drive. It's the only reliable exercise the children and I get, and literally, I feel like I need to keep up with the Jones'. The neighbors walk right past our house, for gosh sake, I can't be a bad role model to my kids in front of them! (It's too late to impress the kids.)

Every morning for the last 5? 6? years I have dreaded the walk to school. I have taken every possible excuse to drive up or skip going up altogether. Rob ALWAYS walks. The kids don't need me to go too.
But I went this morning.

When we get to the HFH, I walk behind Rob and our son. Rob hikes up the H.F.H. without a drop of sweat, like a mountain goat on a stroll.
In contrast, I drag my butt up this tortuous topography, breathing harder than a horse in heat, my glutes complaining they never did nothin' to deserve this. My friend, Ash, walks up behind me and cheerily asks me how I'm doing today. I can't form words; I just turn to him with my tongue lolling out the side of my mouth, panting like my dopey dog after an hour of fetch.
I think "Can't talk--breathing!"

I look up the steep path ahead of me. It's disheartening how far we've still got left.
My daughter walks beside me holding my hand. She hugs my arm to encourage me to keep going. Not in an 8 year old "hurry up, you're embarrassing me" way, but a gentle, innocent "You can do it" sort of way. Her eyes say she loves me, believes in me, her hand pressed into mine says she values my walking beside her.
Fording the HFH says I love her.
Julia added her sweetness just in time to stop my bitterness. Okay, I'm gonna be frequently a little hokey in just this post.

After drop off, the parents, now fancy-free, gab as we walk back down the hill.
Halfway down the other parents stop suddenly, huddling around a young boy who's crying. He's adorable with red hair and a round face, which makes it all the more heartbreaking when that face is set with fear and embarrassment. By the time I get to him, my friend Heather (an amazing writer! http://livewithflair.blogspot.com/) has her arm around his shoulders and tells us he's having trouble breathing. He is one of the many students who walk to school alone, like normal kids. Like I did in from third grade on, after my sisters moved up to grades in other schools. (Uphill...but only one way. What is it with this town putting all its elementary schools on hilltops?)

We parents all gather around, clucking like concerned hens, and a parent asks if any of us can walk back with him to school. I turn around and start walking with him, realizing the rest of the parents all have jobs. Me being unemployed and without much ambition, I'm available. Yay, laziness! (And Yay, Rob, my great husband with a great job at a great company who makes my availability possible!)

The boy and I trudge up the Hill, me talking to him, asking him dumb questions to take his mind off the terror of not breathing well. Since the steep incline is probably making that worse, I offer to carry him piggy back; he declines. We keep climbing.

He glances sideways at me and says in a timid whisper, "You don't have to walk me to the door, I know the way to the nurse." He's not forceful about it, so I just figure he's embarrassed to have some kid's Mom walking his keister to school.
I tell him "You're important. I have to make sure you get to the nurse." Where that came from, I'm not sure. It slipped out and I'm reminded of the nanny in the book The Help telling the young girl “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.” Sometimes you need to hear it, and sometimes you need say it, with both your mouth and your feet as you trudge the steepest part of the HFH with a kid you just met.

Now, I love doing good deeds. It's like money in the Lazy Bank. "I did my good deed for the day, so now I can lie around and read the rest of that romance novel." So I was pleased to get that deed done early.
I guess that's some sugar for the HTH lemon. But there's more in store.

People are so impressed with even minimal efforts, luckily for me. It's like the ultimate con. I walk an extra block and everyone's impressed.
Maybe it's just impressive because I'm not much of a walker.

I try to pass him off to the first school employee we come across, the parking lot crossing guard. I tell her the situation, but she asks if I can walk him the rest of the way so she can stay at her post.
"Sure." I say.
"You're so nice to walk back with him." she says.
See? Told ya! Ka-ching. Not only am I walking him back, but now I'm doing HER a favor by walking a few hundred more feet.

We get to the door, I explain the situation to one of the school employee posted at the door. Before leading the boy to the nurse's office, she says to me "Aren't you nice for walking all the way back here with him!"
Oh yeah, the sugar just keeps on coming.

The other school door monitor reiterates how nice I am for doing this, while looking at me with gratitude sparkling in her eyes.
Like I always say, the bar for kindness is set pretty low.
Even though I predicted her response, I get sheepish about it.
Because, really, I walked a block. That's it.
A lot of people, seeing a kid crying and short of breath, would do what needed to be done.
"I'm only human, I couldn't let him go alone." I say.

She smiles and here comes more sugar. She verifies whose mom I really am and says she really loves my kids. "I know we aren't supposed to have favorites, but they are sweet and wonderful. You've done a great job raising them."
Ha! Whatever, lady! You didn't see me yelling this morning for one kid to take our barking dog out to pee, and nagging the other one to put her shoes on. I probably threw in a snide defensive remark to Rob while I was a it.
"It's so hard to believe that," I told her.
"It's true," she insists, smiling like I'm a celebrity.
Thank you God, for sending me a lemon that positioned me to receive that heart melting compliment. I didn't even know her and she felt moved to tell me that.

When I get home Rob says how great I was to walk back with the boy, and says I ought to call Heather to tell her the he made it.
I call Heather and she repeats the litany of praise for walking.
Again, nothing to get so excited about!

Three hours later I go to hear my friend, Colette, lead a bible study of sorts at a christian prep school only a three minute drive from my house. I walk up to her and she says she heard I'd already been serving God this morning.
I give her a confused look.
"You know, the little boy on the way to school?" She added, eyebrows raised like I was being thick.
Heather must have told her. She cannot keep from publicizing a friend's good deeds. One of the things I love about her. But so fast?
She gives me a doe-eyed look and says "Thank you so much for coming!"

Now I'm being thanked for driving three minutes to get there.
I imagine afterwards she'll again thank me for coming, but by then I will have added the considerable efforts of sitting comfortably and passively listening.