“I dropped it,” he sobbed. Slurred nearly-awake words dribble story of rock lost during nap.
Mommy arms wrap comfort and wipe away sleep-sweat.
“Did you lose your rock in your bed?”
“Let’s go find it.”
Eager suddenly-awake feet pound to his bunk bed, and he plops onto the rug, confident.
Shake out sheets, lift mattress. No rock. Ponder 3-inch gap between bed and wall. Drop to hands and knees and peer past Iron Man with padded muscles, Lego robots, sippee cups, and books to dark roundness against the wall. Light-up noisy sword scoots stone into waiting fingers.
“Thank you Mommy” he calls, clutching his treasure as he rushes to his next adventure.
I fixed it. He brought me his trouble and I could fix it.
Now that I have older children, this simple recovery of a toddler’s lost pebble is a treasure to savour.
The troubles get deeper, more complicated, bitter and heart-breaking, as the calendar turns. I thank God for a moment given to wipe away the tears and give him all-is-well, this time.