Monday evening, Jody sent me an email:
Jody included a link to photos she took of Cate a day earlier to commemorate her first birthday. (Never mind that she's 14 months old already. I got it done.)
Just look at her.
Her world is happy and simple. She doesn't know about the horrible day Jody was speaking of. She doesn't know what happened in Boston. Or in Newtown. None of my kids know, and I feel relieved about that. One day, they will, and we'll have to talk about it. But not now.
Lately, in our own small world, we've been caught up in the process of making a decision--a decision about where my 7-year-old will go to school next year. Truth is, the decision is already made. And I just keep trying it on, again and again. Just to be sure.
But I'll never be sure. Not completely.
So much of me--85% of me--thinks the choice will be really great. And the other 15% wants Dillon to be three again. I want playdates and cheerios. Thomas the Train and trips to the park. One day, my children will make big decisions on their own. It won't always be up to me. They'll pull out of the driveway, move out of the house, tell me they've found "the one".
They'll be so sure. And I won't be sure at all.
I don't like watching them go. Even when I say I need time to myself. I do need time to myself. But in my heart, I want to hold them close, always. Keep them young. Keep them safe.
15% of me doesn't want them to ever grow up. 15% of me is scared about what's going on out there.
But that bigger part--that 85%--wants them to have the world. 85% of me wants to teach them to trust themselves. To live fully, without fear. And for now, 85% has to be good enough.