While I was in the bathroom this morning, my daughter started talking to me through the door. She often chats with me while I’m in the bathroom. I guess I’m a captive audience. At least this time she didn’t ask to come in. Progress.
So she said, “Mommy, I was playing, and I inadvertently broke my rescue candy cane.”
I had so much internal commentary. Did you just say inadvertently? Nice use of your vocabulary. You’re playing with candy canes? Why? Where did you find candy canes in the middle of May? Do you have a candy cane stash in your bedroom? What else is in there? Should I be concerned? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the cache of pencils you hoarded in your underwear drawer.
But I said, “What’s a rescue candy cane?”
She explained that she was playing with three candy canes. One candy cane was in trouble, and the other two were rescuing the first candy cane. Of course. How silly of me to question this.
Alas, during the rescue, one of the candy canes suffered a fatal injury. And my daughter was sad.
I thought about so many lessons I could share with her about how sometimes helpers get hurt. I considered our military and our fire and police officers and other rescue workers who put themselves in danger daily for our sakes. Then I thought of how other helpers, like troop leaders, teachers, and even parents, sometimes get hurt in all of their helping.
Then I focused on how great it was that my DD was playing such a creative game and knew that helpers should always work in at least pairs. I didn’t want to ruin her world with such heavy life lessons.
So I said, “Sometimes rescue candy canes break, Sweetie.”
Not one minute later, I heard the lilting refrain, “Sometimes rescue candy canes break” as my daughter danced and sang her way around the house.