In Praise of the Paper Chain

The elementary school nurse called, my kindergartner had a fever and needed to be picked up right away.  I looked at my computer clock and quickly calculated – just enough time to drive to the school, pick him up, give him a tylenol and get back to the office in time for the icantmissthisimportantconferencecall.

We arrived back to work, a place I adore even though it is slim on things like fancy office supplies or food – critical items needed for distraction, with a few minutes to sort out the logistics.  A bit desperate I asked my limp looking son, "What can you do?" We both paused and scanned the room for possibilities and he said as he perked up,  "I can make my birthday paper chain."

Of course, I now don't remember the important phone call topic – maybe it really was important or maybe it just felt that way at the time.  What I do remember: muting and unmuting the telephone line so I could simultaneously tend to my son, cut paper strips and participate in the telephone discussion.  I do remember that my boy stayed very quiet, like I'd asked, whispering and making big, sweeping gestures instead of talking to draw my attention to his paper chain progress.  His chubby little fingers required concentration to line up the ends of the paper strips under the stapler as he made each link.  He carefully worked on the floor, the paper chain growing longer - green links interspersed with printed-on-one-side white papers from the recycling bin.

With the call completed, we cleaned the scraps off the floor and went home for a proper sick day.  I drove home considering the conference-call-paper-chain-experience a 'less than' moment in life- a time I wasn't a great mom or very present for work, both roles I deeply love.   During the weeks that followed, I overheard my son tell the story, repeatedly and often. "I got to go to mom's work!  She talked on the phone! I made this paper chain!  I used the stapler at her work!" The entire sequence of events punctuated with exclamation point excitement and the recycled paper chain itself pulled out and offered for inspection to the listener.

Each January he now writes on his yearly goals, "Go to mom's work."   Every time I ask him, "What do you want to do at my work?"   He responds as if the answer is obvious, "I need to make my paper chain."

A ritual was born.