Gooey Yak Hairball Removal Squad

Gooey Yak Hairball

"What’s the matter, son?"

"I just need to cry so much!" he says, his head and very eyelids weighed down by some invisible force.

"Okay, you can go cry if you want," I say soothingly.

He does…and comes back up to the kitchen.

"Mom, it’s not helping."

"Want to try some Kirk-tools?"

His eyes well with fresh tears and he nods.  

"Let’s start basic.  How big is it?"

He stretches out his hands and bends at the knees, showing me that he’s holding basically the world on his chest, and the weight of it is too much to bear.

"What color is it?"

"It’s goopy."

"Is it getting all over you?"

"Yeah," he says through tears. "It’s big and hairy and goopy and multicolored."

"Like a yak hairball?"

He smiles a little, but then nods. I can almost see it there, mucking up his hands and dripping on my floor.

"Want to keep it?" I say mischeviously.

He shakes his head, chin wrinkling with emotion.

"Want to get rid of it?"

"Yes!" He cries.

Okay.  So I lead him and the YakBall out side on the front porch.  I help him visualize the Salt Flats over the mountians - a place far away where the yak ball won’t hurt anyone else. I tell him to aim for that ridiculous sculpture we see on the drive there.  He smiles.

He has to drop kick the yak ball three times before he can follow through and see it leave.

Then he goes inside and sobs like the dickens. 

And after that goes on for as long as it needs to, with plenty of quiet reinforcement from his mommy, “It’s okay to cry; just let it out,” He grows quiet.  He slumps, relaxed in our recliner.

"I feel so light now," he says softly.

"That’s because you let it go, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom." he smiles and takes my hand, "I’m glad you learned how to do this."

Me, too. 

 - March 6, 2014