Every morning, there is a lot of crying.  Not the baby, of course.  The big boys.  One offends or assaults the other, which results in crying.

On this particular morning, while we were getting ready, I heard both of them break out in a cry at the same time.  That never happens.  I came running.  Well, I turned around, because they were just behind me.  I searched for the natural disaster, for nothing else could have caused such mass suffering.  I asked what happened and they both ignored me, continuing to clutch their faces and cry.  I noticed they both had their hands on their foreheads.  Of course.  It was a head-on collision.

I was surprised how comfortable I’ve become hearing my two year old cry, or even my four year old.  But when they are both crying, it’s like back to being the mother of just one baby.  I drop what I’m doing and come bounding over whatever may be in my path (I picture this in slow motion).

I guess I’m glad I’m still sensitive to their cries.  I’ve had to accept that I can’t prevent all, or even many, of their injuries or conflicts, and I feared it didn’t bother me anymore.  I don’t ever want my heart to callus to my children’s distress.  I look forward to when they aren’t always falling down or hitting each other.  I sure hope that’ll actually happen.

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