So, I haven't been feeling so good lately. The sadness permeates my city in the West. We're hundreds of miles away from Connecticut; in spirit, they are just around the corner. Our pretty little city is a city of children, a family town, kidville. So, our sorrow is big.
I needed a media break so I went to the mall for some Christmas shopping and gobbled up the happy images of beloved, healthy, safe kids.
A new mom, in her twenties, breasts swollen, with her newborn. She was so taken with the baby that she could barely acknowledge her grandmother's presence, keeping up a steady stream of baby-comments, absorbed in every thing baby. The little kid was dressed in an adorable little stretch terry pants and jacket, bright yellow, trimmed with lace. As it should be.
A little girl, about four, hopped across in the parking lot, clinging to the hand of her father. Obviously they were Christmas shopping for mom. The little girl had bright curly red hair that was unmanageable on oh-so-many levels. Her hair hopped right along with her. She had on a bright blue sweater, an orange tutu, and red, red boots. As it should be.
The family had a blond mama, and a patient dad, three little blond Swedish kids. You know what I mean, the rounded faces, the bright blue eyes, blond hair, pulled back and corralled. You could feel their excitement, as they stopped for lunch in the food court. Their bright eyes took in every detail, capturing my eyes for the moment. We shared a gleeful grin. I was in on their Christmas spirit, as mom took care of the details and the decisions, keeping her babies safe. As it should be.
We're having a tenderzied Christmas this year. As it should be.