I write this two days after having found out that a high school friend passed away suddenly from a "terrible virus," leaving behind a husband and two small, beautiful children. To put it simply, the whole thing has me incredibly freaked out ... terrified, really.
Each night of late, before we settle in to read bedtime stories, Grace needs to make sure there are "no scary parts" in the books she has chosen. If the book is a Tangled chapter book on loan from the library, she wants to be sure that Mother Gothel is not in the chapter we'll be reading. Tonight, she considered whether the bee that flies into the rabbit's mouth in The Whispering Rabbit was scary enough to warrant a decision not to read it.
It occurred to me tonight how different the things that scare me are from the things that scare my kids. I am in awe of and incredibly thankful for the fact that Grace's biggest fears are of things that don't actually exist, like Disney villians or a grumpy neighbor in Ivy & Bean.
I so wish I could protect them from ever having to fear anything greater. Like real life.
