Lioness at the gate? Check.

My mom keeps telling me I am a lioness at the gate.  As in, "Mark is lucky to have you as his lioness at the gate."

Side note:  do lionesses cry? In the hospital, our doctor told me they are tears of strength and tears of courage.  I am going with that!

Yesterday Mark went to school.  The plan was two class periods, take the last finals, then he got his yearbook. In unrelated but frustrating news, Adam had a flat tire and I was taking the tire to be repaired.  Therefore Adam had taken the van to work and I was Mark's ride.

Mark called to ask me to come and pick him up.  He sounded down.  I may be a lioness but I'm a squeamish lioness who feels scared when her cub may or may not have low blood sugar.

"What's wrong?!?" I asked.

He explained that he had a $60 fine and so couldn't get the wristband he needed to get the yearbook.  He said, "I don't even know how to get a wristband anyway."  He was just ready to call it a loss and forget about the whole thing.

I wasn't.

I said, "I'll be right there."  I checked online and the fine was because he hadn't turned in a textbook.  Braeden found the book and I headed to the school with it.

Mark was totally discouraged and droopy shouldered.  It was just one more thing that was hassling him.

I skipped all the lines everywhere and went straight to the front office.  I know enough to know if you have those ladies on your side, you are halfway there.  They said if I went to return the textbook, I'd get a wristband and then to come straight back to them.

We found out where to return the textbook.  No wristbands.  The lady said, "It got to be too much so we had to stop giving them out here."

She handed us a red slip of paper instead, which indicated we were cleared.  So back to the office.  I was stopped in the doorway to the office by a rather formidable woman.  I told her my business and she pointed to the enormous line, of about 150 people, all holding red slips.

I pointed in the direction of the receptionists.  "They said to come back here."

"They are only office receptionists," she said dismissively.  "They don't really know."

Wow.  Shots fired.

I must have had a look of desperation when I eyed that long line.  She said, "We've been trying to get these fines resolved for weeks."

So that's when I pulled out my big gun, my ace in the hole.

"My son was in the hospital last week," I said.  "That's why he wasn't able to turn in his book."

Her demeanor completely changed and she grasped Mark's shoulder and said, "I'm so glad you're back with us."  She had me stand in the doorway of the financial office until they could give us a wristband.  It took about 30 seconds.

We walked to where the yearbooks were.  "Hey, at least these lines aren't long anymore," Mark said.

Even though he was stopped by a few friends on our way out of the school and greeted with cheerful smiles and high fives, Mark mostly just gave the head nod boys his age have perfected.  He didn't get one person to sign his yearbook.  He was over it.

But I got my boy his yearbook.  In the eternal scheme of things, one yearbook from one year of high school is nothing.  But if I can lift any of the burden on that kid's suddenly too narrow shoulders, I'll do it.  I'll be the lioness.

Because for this boy, anything.