Children’s innocence provides much-needed shelter

Some days, it’s hard to get out of bed.

When the radio switched on, before my eyes were even open, I was already overwhelmed.

Another Blackhawk helicopter crashed. Another mortgage company was foundering in a sea of bad debt. Home values were down. Gas prices were up.

Swinging my feet out from under the covers, I realized my personal landscape wasn’t any better.

The cat had been sick during the night. The girls were taking too long to get up and ready for school, so there was going to be some drama before we got out of the house.

The Visa bill was due, which meant it was time to pay the piper for last month’s dancing. And the bathroom scale mocked me.

Some days it’s hard to find a little good news.

When my children were small, just learning to walk on their own, they were such busy little things. They moved constantly, exploring the world that had suddenly expanded beyond my arms. It was exhausting to watch.

They were determined to be independent, wriggling out of my grasp or darting off just out of reach. But there were unexpected moments when the freedom they’d won was just too much.

That’s when they would come back to me, to lean against my legs or crawl up into my lap, and claim just a moment of reassurance or comfort before they pushed away again and toddled off.

I was the safe place. I was home base.

These days it sometimes feels as if I’ve tunneled through the years and come out on the other side of the world. Now, more often than not, I’m the one who pulls back, who reaches out to them. I’m the one who holds on tight for a minute before I go back to learning to live on my own.

That night, after a long day, I was so tired and so keyed up my head was buzzing. I walked in the back door and I could hear music playing in another room.

My oldest daughter had dropped by and was sitting at the computer. My middle daughter was sitting at the kitchen table working a crossword puzzle with a friend. The youngest was watching her favorite show on television.

There was – and this is no small thing when you have three girls under one roof for any period of time – peace in the house. If my son had been there, it would have been perfect.

I had a lot to do. There was housekeeping on the to-do list. I was flying out of town to spend a few days with an old friend and I needed to pack. I had some writing to get done.

But all I really wanted was to stop for a minute. To rest on one of my children and feel safe.

At bedtime I walked upstairs to say goodnight to my youngest daughter. I sat on the edge of her bed.

In the dark room, looking out the window at the stars, we talked quietly about the people, places and things that matter to us.

At the end of the day I got more than a cuddle and a view of the night sky. I got to see the world, with all its possibility and potential, through the forgiving and optimistic eyes of a child.

After a while I slipped out and went downstairs to do all the things that were waiting.

All I’d needed was a minute in a safe place. And a little good news.

I was ready to push on.