my 2-year old, every night, soothes himself to sleep by recounting the objects and events that have made an impression on his day…

“goodnight motorcycle”

“goodnight bumble bee”

“goodnight thunder”

“goodnight lawn-mower”

(If you haven’t noticed, there’s a rumbling-buzzing sound theme.)

And no, the connection between this ritual and the research on daily gratitudes is not lost on me.

***

The black pop-ups on my phone today twist my gut…

“Surface-to-Air Missile Shot Down Malaysian Airliner”

“Israel Begins Ground Assault in Gaza”

Nothing registers the sight of a child’s corpse like the nights you slip into your own child’s bedroom to watch him sleep.

***

I’m attending a workshop in September by a legend-of-a-woman, Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. On my morning hike, by way of podcast, she said (something to the effect of)…

Mend the parts of the world that are within your reach. For the rest, pray. 

***

Thunder has a funny way of starting out suddenly, and big.

Last night, a single crack and ground-shaking roar left my 2-year old screaming from his crib, “I’m scared!” (interestingly, the first emotion he’s learned to communicate).

I swooped him up, wrapped him in blanket, and held his head to my chest. I pressed my chin over the top of his head, took in the scent of his hair, and thought (as I often do): this is the best-yet moment of my life.

There is nothing more comforting or right than the feeling of effectively protecting your child.

I shudder to imagine the truth of the reverse.

***

So life is heavy, like those thunderous skies.

But I’ll heed today’s teachers: Dr. E and my 2-year old.

And hug what I’ve got, reach out to those I can, and get on my knees and pray for the mothers who could not protect their children today.