It’s weird being a mom. We’re supposed to know all the things, but these two hooligans teach me something new every day.

Sometimes it’s about trombones and spittoons or ballet positions, sometimes it’s about calculus or Texas history, and some days it’s about how they need me to parent them.

This last hospitalization was scary – everything is headed in the right direction now – but when I say that, in the moments of my husband’s health crisis, our entire life flashed before my eyes. I’m not kidding.

On the evening of his hospitalization, we settled in for a cozy Sunday with plans for a movie night with the kids. Grumpy Old Men was the dealer’s choice (me, I’m the dealer), and we were all excited to see those two oldies duking it out.

I walked into the house after picking dinner up and we were all gathering together to pass around our burrito bowls when, dear husband experienced several seizures, back-to-back, lasting about 45 minutes. Seizures are new to us – it was scary, and we all saw it happen, even the kids.

Our son calls 9-1-1, sweet daughter is trying to understand what she’s seeing, and I’m trying to keep my hubby from falling out of or over the armrests of his wheelchair. It was chaotic and traumatic.

The next 48 hours are a blur, but the one thing I remember was that I didn’t want the kids to see daddy in ICU.

We’re on day five of a seven-day ICU stay, and it’s also the day before school starts. Hubby’s sweet cousin offers to do the night shift so I can do the first day of school with the kids, and we head out for an early dinner.

What I didn’t realize was that my two little buddies were about to school me on what they needed from me.

After demolishing some appetizers, the littlest one asks, “So, when are you going to let us see daddy?!” Older brother responds, “Yeah, it’s hard to believe you when you say he’s doing okay if we can’t even see him.”

Baby sister adds, “He’s our daddy – and we haven’t seen him in five days. I need to see him before school starts.”

I was trying to protect them from the trauma of seeing their dad in his fragile state of recovery. What I didn’t realize was that by putting this barrier up, I was sowing mistrust in their hearts about his status and recovery. Kids are so smart.

So, I agreed to take them that night, but not before preparing them for what they would see. I explained what their dad looked like, why he wouldn’t be able to speak, and what he was hooked up to so they understood what those things were and why he needed them.

It was the best decision I made for their minds and hearts. I couldn’t protect them from the trauma of the event, but I could help ease their fears by listening to them when they asked for what they needed.