Dear Diary,
Tonight the little ones turned my quiet evening into a fullblown hearttoheart. Lucy, my sixyearold, fixed me with that solemn stare of hers and said, Mum, I need to speak to you like a girl to a girl. I could only nod and ask what was on her mind. What about? she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. About men, she replied. I tried to correct her, reminding her that men are people, not objects. She frowned, Why is that? I tried to explain, but she was already restless, shivering a little as if the word itself chilled her.
I apologized, Tell me, love, whats troubling you? She turned the tables on me this time: Im scared for our dad. My heart lurched. What happened to him? she pressed. I thought maybe Id been fussing over him too much at night. Do you understand? I asked, wiping the cold sweat from my brow. Sweetheart, are you not sleeping? she whispered, her face sincere. I am, I said, though I could still hear the echo of her earlier complaints: Enough already, its late, turn off the laptop! She reminded me that James works on his laptop, earning the money that buys my groceries and her toys. Why do you keep pestering him? she asked.
I admitted, Youre right, Im bothering him. I promise to be better. She asked if that was all, if our conversation was over. I nodded, relieved. Ill heat up dinner. Hell be home soon from the office. Lucy darted to the window, watching for his familiar silhouette, waving until he appeared. Watching her, I realized how much she looks to me for reassurance, and how I must be the calm they both need.
Tomorrow Ill try to keep my questions gentle, and let James have his peace. For now, Ill cherish these small moments of honesty that bind us together.
