Share the Love

The conversation I had with my Tiny Human was something that has become normal. See, when I refer to her as a “Tiny Human” it’s because that is my parenting method. She is a human being. She deserves to be heard and to get answers when she asks a question. She deserves the truth. The dosage of truth has changed overtime, of course. Now, it has become complex, multidimensional, and I cannot describe how exhilarating it is to gleam what is in her mind. It is incredible. Every. Single. Day. 
So, back to the start. The conversation. School shootings are not surprising anymore. Horrifying, yes. Maddening, for sure. Agonizing, absolutely. Surprising? No. Sadly, no. 
I told her what had happened. She pulled up NPR and we listened to the hourly newscast to fill us in. As I listened to the students recounting what had happened, tears swelled in my eyes. My daughter looked at me and asked, “should I be scared?”
I waited. I took my time. I touched her hair and took in every inch of her perfect, innocent face. I told her, no. She doesn’t need to be afraid. I told her that my tears were empathetic. I knew what those parents used to have. A precious life. A gift in life. A purpose even on the worst days. Even trying to imagine what they were going through was enough to reduce me to tears. I told her it was important to let that empathy be our compass. 
She told me her ideas of what she would do if there was ever a shooter at her school. She had already thought of this. She already had imagined a shooter in her halls. The same hallways I had walked when I was her age. A place I remember through a nostalgic lens. A place that is not immune. 
My daughter wanted to call so many people. She was so worried about it. That she wouldn’t be able to get to them all. I told her I would simplify it a little. 
I told her not to call me. If she was worried about it, I could at least be last. I know how much she loves me and I told her I hoped she knows how much I lover her. I also told her to remember that I am the scariest mommy in the district and that I would be there within minutes. 
She hugged me and said, “thanks mom.”
And honestly, that’s as good as it gets. Love your family. Tell them you love them. Hug, laugh, smile, cry. Feel big. Love big. Car accidents, school shootings, slipping on ice. The end may be years off or it could be tomorrow. Never let yourself regret telling someone you love them AND that you feel loved.  
~When I started momming I thought the hardest part was teaching them to walk and talk. Man. What a wonderful bubble that was. -Mom Lore 

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