At Close of Day

It is raining here, with lightning and thunder. It wraps me in contemplative thought.

C is my most sensitive child. She isn't sensitive in that she takes constant offense due to misinterpreting everyone's motives. She just reacts passionately to the things that matter most to her.

Last night she was feeling sad and angry. The only way to help C out of that funk is to first let her be angry; I have observed that our society really doesn't approve of angry little girls. They are to be sweet, and kind, and sensitive, and in complete control of themselves at all times, perpetually polite. This doesn't fly with spirited Sporty Girl.

So, I dug deep and recalled a funny story from my youth. By the end of the story, she was belly-laughing and the frown fell from her face, replaced by the dimple nested deeply in her left cheek, and her bright, sage green eyes.

I laid with her until her breathing became rhythmically slowed. Tucking into her heart a bit of joy with bedtime prayers and night time kisses is my duty, and removing what bit of grime the day brought, my abiding pleasure.