Last night I walked a sobbing, overly tired little kid to bed. We were supposed to play a game together as a family but exhaustion proved to us that the only proper place for her to be was in bed. I helped her brush her teeth through hiccupy sobs and put pajamas on her sleepy crumpled body.
She put up a good fight.
I read her two stories. Sang her the two songs I’ve sang to her every night since she’s been mine, curled up behind her and tickled her back until the gasps stopped and her breathing slowed. I kissed her little forehead, covered her with her pink Cinderella blanket, said the five words I say every night “sleep well my little princess” and closed the door.
Aside from the sobbing part, this happens almost every night in our house. No big deal, it’s our routine.
I ended up back downstairs and somehow clicked on a link to a video from Egypt. A dark video full of violence and the sounds of death and terror. I may be doing exponentially better than I was four weeks ago, but violence still tears through my brain with shocking efficiency.
This one hurt my heart too, because unlike those prime time crime shows, this is real.
I sat there wishing I could bring Egypt to my house, read it a story and tuck it safely into bed.
I got ready for bed and went back in to see Addie, her tiny little body curled up, her face surrounded by mopsy curls…fast asleep. I had fixed her night. She fell asleep knowing she is loved and safe. And while I can’t do this for an entire country, I can do it for one little girl.
And that’s pretty powerful, and for now it’s going to have to be enough.