Make Way for Mama Bear, Who Awakens from A Very Deep Sleep

Despite having blue eyes and (formerly) blond hair, I've managed to squeeze out a few dominant genes in my lifetime. And, while I hate to use a term that may cause some people to clump me with that egomaniacal, pre-Copernican hairball Sarah Palin, it turns out I've got a rather well developed "mama bear" gene.

It's been quite a week for the mama bear.

First, Allison got sick. Then, Eric. Until this week, I couldn't remember the last time my kids have missed school or work because of the crud. Both Eric and Allison--haunted by the dreaded "deadline" gene passed down from the Raglin side--would rather (metaphorically) suck up a case of the sniffles than miss an obligation. For them to have called "Uncle" on school and work, then, was rather significant in our otherwise insignificant household.

Now, I'm not particularly motherly. After all, I let newborn Eric fester in his own urine-soaked cloth diapers for almost a week before I was told about the genius of plastic pants. But I do dearly love my kids, in a flawed, kind of quaint and limping sort of way. And some surprisingly good, maternal instincts bubble up from within me when stomach-soothing 7-Up is the drink of the day for the Holt kids.

Let's just say that I do not like to see my kids suffer the slings and arrows of seasonal influenza, even if its effects temper them in a way that renders them fitfully silent and sleepy--two qualities that should not be downplayed in the throes of adolescence.

And my mama-bear gene got no break by me going to school each day this week. In fact, it got downright sore (is it possible to pull a gene?) after sitting through 40 interviews of kids who'd like to write for the newspaper staff next year. Despite my Martha-Ray big mouth, I am drawn to shy kids. And to kids who overcome a case of the nerves to sit in front of 30 peers and a middle-aged cuckoo-ball teacher to talk about why they'd like to write for the newspaper next year. I hold great respect for that kind of quiet courage.

That I only have room for about 15 of these kids--each the child of parents who love them with mama-bear genes--has been a brutal truth to carry this week. There is no joy in knowing that I will break some young hearts next week when we post the list of next year's Newspaper staff.

One would think coming home on a Friday afternoon would offer the mama bear some much needed refuge. Alas, not yesterday. Chasing the signs of migraine and the fatigue of a very long and tiring week, I could not have been happier to see my couch. Oh, and my family. My fatal mistake, though, was to watch the national news, something I hadn't done in awhile. And there, on the screen in high-def glory, were tens of thousands of jubilant Egyptians, hugging strangers and newsmen, tasting freedom for the first time in 30 years.

What was a mama bear to do but weep when the 23-year-old Egyptian mother, cradling her child close to her bosom, spoke of a freedom she had never known, a freedom she hoped would become standard for her young child?

What indeed, was this mama bear to do except cry "Uncle", my body worn out from a long week of loving this world and its beautiful occupants, each of whom put one foot in front of the other, despite the odds?