I couldn’t bear to be sitting at my computer yesterday, endlessly refreshing news sites. I went out for a run — in the rain, and in silence — and felt marginally better. I played with the kids, we ate dinner as a family, and August, feverish and miserable, slept in our bed, kicking me and Brandon all night.
This morning, the kids and I arranged our longest train track yet, and we built a forest of Playmobil trees. The forest needs a gingerbread house, according to Eleanor. I tried to recount the story of Hansel and Gretel to E a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t remember all of the details. Brandon jumped in, filling in some of my gaps, but then I remembered our old book of fairy tales (my mother’s book, given to her by her parents on her second birthday). I found it and read the story to Eleanor, verbatim, not remembering how grim(m) it was. We read it once and she has been referencing it since.
From witches and terrible stepmothers to worse, much worse, it sometimes feels like the world is filled with too much evil. There is so much goodness out there though, too. Far more goodness. For that, and for quotidian family moments, I’m grateful.