Sometimes...

Sometimes I climb into bed with Ryan at night. It is usually at his urging. He will say to me as he pats his pillow

"Mommy."
"Tired."
"Sleep."
"Pillow."

Sometimes I crawl in and snuggle under the cover with him and immediately pretend to go fast to sleep. This sets the stage for a game we play together. He will pretend to sleep too, giggling as he snores. This state of pretend sleep never lasts for more than a few seconds before he starts nudging me with a finger and saying "Mommy, wake up." I continue to feign sleep and then act as if I am startled by his words. This makes him laugh that much more. We play this game over and over and each time he laughs as if it is the first time we've played it.

Sometimes we lay there quietly. I close my eyes and listen to him breath and enjoy his touch as he plays with my hair. He twirls it around his fingers and it makes me relax. It is during these times that Ryan seems to sense that the quietness is a good thing and that moments like these are very special and are made for cherishing. He'll play with my hair and sometimes gently tap my shoulder as he whispers "Mommy." I slowly open my eyes, turn and look into his. He's able to hold that gaze and I am struck by how he seems wise beyond his years. I know in that moment that he believes in my love; that he feels safe; that he trusts me to make all the world right.

Sometimes that scares me. I want nothing more than to make the world right for him and for Lilly too, but I can't. Part of being a mother means pushing them out the door and into that world. It means not catching them every time they begin to fall. I suppose I believe in a certain degree of tough love and that we learn from our mistakes. But, it is because I believe in tough love that I play, embrace and hold my children up. They need the good to deal with the bad.