So it’s one day before C-Day and, for the most part, I’m ready. Still have a bunch of wrapping to do, but not an overwhelming amount. Everything will get done and, hopefully, the kiddos will have a good Christmas.
My kids are a constant source of . . . not sure what to call it. Entertainment? Amusement? Inspiration? Take, for example, what happened a few mornings ago. My daughter and I were getting ready for the day. Suddenly, she cries out that I needed to come up to her bedroom. She was scared of something that was in her closet. Upon further inspection, we found the culprit – a tie-dyed former pillow case that had been made into an Indian costume for the Thanksgiving program at her school. Apparently, part of the tie-dye pattern looked like a skeleton’s head.
I didn’t want to mock her for her fears. I remember very well what it was like to be irrationally afraid of simple things. When I was small, there was a book about a house that had been abandoned and boarded up. The house had a face on it – the windows were eyes, the door was a mouth, etc. – and the illustrations made it look both sad and slightly angry at the same time. I kept thinking that this house was going to come after me. I couldn’t keep that book in my room and for several days, I needed to sleep with my bedroom door open so that I could see my dad down the hall, sitting in his recliner watching television. Nothing bad could happen as long as I could see my dad, right?
I remember that my mom never got irritated with me, even though it must have been frustrating. After all, how could this cartoonish, boarded-up house be scary? How could it possibly come after me? There was no explanation for it – I was just terrified. My mom was completely understanding and did whatever I needed to get over my fear.
My daughter’s costume is now packed away and, hopefully, my daughter won’t have to worry about skeletons in her closet until she’s much older.