a life just ordinary

I have a six year old. She is a sponge. I know that seems redundant, every six year old is a sponge. She soaks up information from me, her dad, our families, school and the world at large and regurgitates it with a six year old spin. I know that things get lost in the translation from time to time. Somewhere in that beautiful and brilliant little brain of hers the information gets jumbled and comes out slightly off kilter. Most of the time it’s funny; it’s a game for mommy to try to pick apart the fact from the filter.

There was the time, around president’s day that she explained that they learned all about the president’s. They learned about Washington, who was first but now he is dead. They learned about Lincoln, who made everyone the same but sadly got shot so he is dead too. She worried about Obama, since he seemed nice and didn’t want him to be dead like all of the other presidents. History is complicated, especially to a 6 year old. I could only imagine the thought process there, almost like the American people send the president’s off to some “farm” when they complete their tenure.  It took a little bit, but I managed to explain that they were simply learning about some of the older presidents, that died because they lived long ago. That it wasn’t a job requirement to die at the end of your term, and there are plenty of living presidents still around.  She told me it was a good thing, since there was a volcano by the White House that Obama would have to worry about first. Her friend Ben had told her so.  There was no amount of convincing that could change her mind. So now she believes that Obama’s job as president is to keep an eye on the volcano. He is kind of like a super hero.  Oh, and he is my boss. Apparently the only person that can trump a mommy ruling is the president of the United States. I am okay with this logic.

I know she picks up lots of stuff from the media; the radio, movies and television. I can tell by her uncanny ability to pick the most annoying pop song currently on the radio and sing it ad naseum.  I try to limit her exposure to this because I find it overwhelming sometimes, and I have a fully formed frontal lobe. (At least I think I do.) But there are the moments we forget, the weather report she is regurgitating to me as I give her brother a bath… “There is a line of thunderstorms approaching the St. Louis metro area, mom,” she says. “Please be aware of the potential for hail and high winds,” she repeats; echoing the weather man word for word. She takes her cues from me. If I am not flustered by it, all is right with her world. And so she watches the pretty colors on the radar, deciding she really likes the dark purple the best even if it means lots of thunder. She goes to bed secure in the idea that nothing can happen to her, her parents will keep her safe.

Then Monday happened, the Boston Marathon Bombing; one of a series of horrible events to occur in her short lifetime. The news played in my kitchen on a loop while her brother napped and she was in school. I was shocked and horrified at the wanton violence, the reckless and callous disregard for human life. I was angered as the events unfolded, an eight year boy and two young women among the casualties. I tuned into Twitter and the radio to learn more over the past few days. I did all of this while she was away, careful that my little sponge would pick up on this tragedy.  I sheltered her from the news; instead playing outside, reading books and coloring pictures. She is young enough that I can do that without worry that some classmate will bring it up at school.

I know that time is not on my side, that the world will find a way to come crashing in. I know that I can’t prevent every tragedy nor do I want to shelter her from life in all its nuances. I want her to learn to cope with a scary world; I want her to process not only the good but also the bad in life with equal parts sadness, empathy, balance and hope.  I want to help build her foundation so she knows that despite the evil in the world there will always be more good as long as there are people like me, and her daddy, her teachers and our family.  There will always be those helpers who rush in to protect the innocent and fight the bad guys. I will teach her this every chance I can by reading books and playing games, reminding her always that I am here. She knows now that her parents will keep her safe, no matter what. It is my job right now to keep the world at bay. But when she is at school, and her brother is napping I sit, I watch the news and sometimes I cry.

I cry for the families wrenched apart by senseless violence. I cry for happy moments denied. I cry for a world that is a little darker today. I cry at all of the wonderful stories of human kindness unfolding from tragedy, proof that there is indeed more good than bad in this world. I cry for a moment for all of these things, and then I stop because above all the last thing I want my little sponge soaking up is my tears.  Some days it tough to be a mommy.

So now I will go, for the hundredth time, try to convince Madison that there is no volcano at the White House.  And if there is, well we can remain calm; at least Obama is there to protect us.

Photo Courtesy of Jib Jab