Red Rover Red Rover - Leave Heidi Right Over There

If the answer on Jeopardy were:

The Worst Possible Part of Childhood Games

The question would be:
What is anything that requires team captains and choosing people one-by-one until the last person standing is always Heidi??

Thank you Alex Trebek, I'll take my cash and run with it.

If the answers were:

P.E.

Mutual activities.

Family reunion activities.

Neighborhood night games.

The question would be:

What is my worst nightmare to this day at 42 years old because I'm very certain I have PTSD on the real and I break out into a rash and cold sweats that then turn into hot sweats because that's the way it is right now and I run because I'm a runner when it comes to feeling feelings and I need a Diet Coke on the rocks STAT?!

Double or nothing!

Red Rover And Such is one of the experience headers on my "Elementary School" themed Step Four page.

And it's messy.

Picture this. And for clarification purposes, this is a true story:

Asher is about four months old. Anson is about one month old.

Jackson, Braxton, Kaydon and Colton and I are babysitting.

I am out in the front room, feeding Asher.

Colton is on the floor, playing as he does.

Jackson, Braxton AND Kaydon are in the boys' nursery changing Anson's diaper.

Yup, all three of my 6'3" boys to change a brand new baby's diaper.

Suddenly, I hear screaming - like there are 17 adolescent girls in the house all of a sudden who have just seen a spider and are frantically searching for their way out of the room that only has one exit - screaming.

Braxton comes RUNNING - no Usain Bolt sprinting - down the hallway YELLING:
"MOM!! You gotta go in there! It's REAL BAD!!!!"

I hand him Asher.

I make my way to the boys' nursery.

Jackson is on the floor, I kid you not, in the fetal position rocking back and forth.

Kaydon is holding Anson's legs in the air whilst on the changing table, dry heaving because the kid has a nissen and physically cannot throw up.

Anson is laying there looking around wondering where his prize is because he has successfully SPRAYED the wall with this infant green/orange/brown/milky poo.

It's every where, People.

Jackson is traumatized... praying to Gods I didn't even know existed.

Kaydon is horrified by the new artwork that is now a part of the neutral-colored walls.

 Colton is happily playing with Legos.

Braxton is now comfortably feeding Asher.

And I am joining Jackson on the floor, laughing.
Because this shit right here is the funniest thing I have ever witnessed.

It's messy like that, People.

You're welcome.

I despised games of any kind.

I knew that I would never be chosen.

I wasn't fast.

I wasn't pretty.

I was fat.

I was bad at all sports and all games.

I had no worth and no value to any of the people who were playing the game...

And therefore, I sucked at life. 

Literally sucked at life.

Even now, at work or at conferences or in church classes - whenever we are told to "break up into groups," I quickly high-tail it out of there and right out the door as if I am back in active shooter training and a gun has just been fired.

I'm a runner.

Still.

Forest Gump runner.

When I first attended "group," as I call it (it's technically called ARS, or 12-step), I didn't know what to expect.
Obviously.

And, I was scared.

I walked in and there was a small circle of chairs - maybe eight.

I chose one and sat down.

For the most part, we have never even filled in the eight chairs.

There was always one or two that were left empty.

This past week, though, we kept expanding the circle and adding more chairs until we just about circled the entire room.

People kept coming in and we kept right on expanding our circle, shaking hands and exchanging hugs as people continued to enter our circle.

I sat still as I watched, and participated, in this phenomenon.

It wasn't anything epic, or that anyone would write about in a journal - except Yours Truly.

I wept.

Tears running down my cheeks.

The Kleenex box was gently handed to me.

I continued to weep.

I was a PART of this circle.

I was one of them, and they were just like me.

No team captains.

No cliques.

No one choosing the best of the best or the prettiest of the pretty or the smartest of the smart or the most athletic of the athletes or the richest of the rich.

In fact, we wouldn't even know who met those criteria in our circle.

We just know each other by first name, and by definition: "Children of God."

In recovery.

 On a journey of hope.

Working every single minute of every single hour of every single day to go in the right direction.

All of us broken.

All of us tired.

All of us ready to hand it all over.

I realized in that moment, in that room, in that crazy-big circle, that I belong.

I belong to the greatest team there is: Team Recovery.

We all do!

I left feeling like our team won that night...