My Own Little Mary Poppins

In honor of opening weekend of Mary Poppins and my son Syrus who was born six years ago on opening night, happy birthday, my sweet boy.

My Own Little Mary Poppins

The first movie I saw at the drive-in was Mary Poppins.  I remember peering through the hazy windshield of a 1970s maroon van, sandwiched between my mom and dad, and smiling as Jane and Michael Banks jumped freely and lightly into paintings and sang about spoons full of sugar and words like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.  I was mesmerized by Mary Poppins who created a magical world where doing chores wasn’t so bad, musical numbers with penguins were a must, and moms and dads discovered what is really important in life – like making time to fly a kite and play games and tuck kids in bed at night.

And who would have thought that one day, I would get one of my own -- my own little version of Mary Poppins to remind me what’s important.  He is a little boy named Syrus.  He doesn’t come with a trick carpetbag and iconic umbrella.  He doesn’t fly in with a bunch of clever quips and memorable outings. No, he comes with a limited vocabulary and a simple daily request: “Mom, get me!” And yet, it is this sweet command that has a Mary-Poppins-like magic when listened to and obeyed, and does exactly what Jane and Michael Banks were hoping for from their parents.  “Mom, get me.”  Pursue me, know me, hear me, understand me, value me.  Get me.

My son Syrus is essentially non-verbal – his speech has always been a source of frustration for him and me as his apraxia diagnosis means that he knows what he wants to say but he can’t get his muscles to form the words he is desperately trying to communicate.  So, when my son waltzes into the kitchen, and announces with a sly grin and an unforced rhythm, “Mom, get me!” I can’t help but spring into action.  The sheer delight those words offer to a mom who prays every night that words will come from her son’s mouth cannot be described.  And yet, the fact that THESE (Mom, get me) are the three words that my son utters, I believe to be no accident.  They are what Jane and Michael Banks wanted from their parents, what we all wanted as children, what we still want today.  Pursue me.  Know me.  Understand me.  Walk with me. Value me.  Love me.

What my son means when he yells, “Mom, get me,” is “Mom, chase me.”  Come get me and chase me around the house.  Enter into my world.  Be a kid with me – play the way that I want to play, not the way you wish I could or would play.  As I run after him around the house, he repeatedly looks over his shoulder with a wide grin, making sure I am still there, still chasing, still running, still wanting to get him.  He wants me to follow him – to let him lead and see me follow.  Syrus loves that part – the part where my eyes are only on him and he is all I can see, not distracted or pulled away by phone calls and emails and to-do lists -- where I am there, really there with him.  And after multiple laps around the kitchen island and stuffed couch, he flings himself on the cushions and waits for me, giggling and beaming, until we are nose-to-nose.  “Mom, love me.” Don’t worry about my speech and my future; don’t focus on all the things that I can’t do.  Spend time with me here, work with me just as I am, and love this version of me.  The version I am right now – I’ll only be this kid for so long.  And after we have laughed and wrestled and sung a few rounds of a favorite Mary Poppins tune (usually “Jolly Holiday”), Syrus stands up and looks me in the eye, and promptly says again (for the hundredth time, though it never gets old), “Mom, get me.” And we’re off again.

This is the story of our lives, isn’t it? We long to be understood, pursued, known, valued, chased, loved – for someone to get us.  Syrus asks me every day to get him.  And I ask it, too.  Like Jane and Michael Banks, like Syrus Burick, I want someone to get me.  To keep company with me, to enter into my space and life and heart and really see who I am today and love that version of me, today’s version, for that is who I am right now.  We all are.  We live messy lives where hardships come and we muddle through.  Our priorities are at times askew and we lose are tempers and run on empty and could all use a nanny, a caregiver if you will, to come in and pave the way for us to get back on the right track.  I think I feel like that most days – a need for grace, a desire to rest and be cared for and tucked in at night and reminded that someone gets me. 

And I find that I often forget that there is One who is in constant pursuit around the kitchen island after me, who knows me (the today version, and even the yesterday and tomorrow version) and nods His understanding over and over again, and loves me, oh how He loves me in a way that makes me want to chase after Him because every day, as I am asking Him to get me, He is replying, “ Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30)