(and make us realise that maybe everything is going to be okay after all)
The other day I left the house for a little while. I needed to buy a few things the boys needed. Simple things. Socks. Shorts. T-shirts. Underwear for my oldest. Ointment for my youngest. The kind of small errands mothers do every day that nobody really notices, yet somehow they occupy half of our minds all the time.
The boys stayed at home with their dad. Playing.
We live on the ground floor, and when I came back, I rang the building intercom. Their dad opened the door downstairs and, the moment I stepped inside, I heard a noise coming from the flat. Small footsteps. Fast footsteps. Laughter. Excitement.
And then, a second later, they both appeared at the door. Running towards me.
“Mummy! Mummy!”
My youngest was stumbling as he ran. Clumsy. Unsteady. Desperate to get there first. My oldest was jumping up and down, dancing and shouting as if I had been away for days rather than just a couple of hours.
They both crashed into me at exactly the same time. Knocked me onto the floor in the middle of the hallway while each tried, in their own way, to reach my arms first. They hugged me. Pushed each other aside. Laughed. Talked over one another. They wanted to show me toys, tell me stories, have me all to themselves for a few seconds.
And so I sat down on the floor. One child on each leg. I wrapped my arms around both of them at the same time and covered them in kisses until they laughed even harder.
And in that moment, I smiled too. One of those smiles that isn’t forced. Isn’t survival. Isn’t an attempt to look okay. Just pure happiness finding its way into your chest without asking permission. Because in the middle of this difficult season, I constantly wonder whether I’m getting it wrong. Whether I’m doing enough to protect them from all of this. Whether I’m giving them what they need. Whether they’ll be okay. Whether this new version of our family will leave them with wounds or with happy memories.
But then there are moments like this. Small moments. Moments that are almost invisible to everyone else. And in those moments, I realise that the most important thing is still intact. Love. Security. The feeling of home. Because my children still run towards me as if I am the best place in the world. And maybe that means that, despite everything, we’re doing something right. Maybe it means they are still happy. Still whole. Still feeling loved. And perhaps this is something nobody tells us: sometimes it isn’t the big decisions that show us we’re on the right path. It’s these tiny seconds. A hug in the hallway. Two children shouting as they run towards their mother. A lap shared between them. And a heart that, for a few moments, finally stops being afraid.
Leave a Reply