The Little Pond At The Park

Yesterday after picking Lola up from school I took the girls to a park, down the street from where we live. Lola's been anxious the last few weeks; at the end of the school day she's as wound up and irritable as a CEO of a major corporation. The girls ended up wandering away from the play area and we walked across a little bridge to the small waterfall and pond, which moves in an incline and is full of large slabs of rock. Ever and I perched on the top end and set up a rhythm of rock throwing: I handed her the small pebbles and she chucked them in. I set Lola up on a large flat rock above the water, and told her to cross her legs and watch the water. I want you to say out loud ' my mind is clear and calm ' in a quiet voice while you watch the water, I instructed her. I'll tell you when you are done. And she did. For a moment, the sun shone through the cold grey sky and the sounds were stone falling in water and my daughter's voice, repeating her peace. I looked downward to pick up another rock, and there was a flash of color, I saw Ever's little arms and hands tucked underneath her body in a sumersault into the water, toward and on to a great rock with rushing water over it, the side of her head and body in the water, Lola scream, and my hand feeling Ever's shoulder as I grabbed onto whatever part of her I could and yanked her toward me. My legs and chest soaking wet, I pulled Ever's half sopped head toward my chest and told her Mommy's got you, Mommy's got you, as she agreed each time after I spoke Yeaaaah. Yeaaaah. Each time life disrupts us this way, I am, no matter the situation or how small or large the problem of pain for my children, grateful that I can be there for them, grateful that I can pull them toward me and hold them.