THE SUN WILL COME OUT T.... 80

One day, years, ago, while I was raising my children, my mother-in-law (in her eighties) and I were sitting on the couch when she said:  I don't envy you raising children in the kind of world we live in today.  I remember asking:

When was it ever easy to raise a family in safety?

Was it easier ...
During the Holocaust when babies were torn from our arms, tossed into the air and shot for sport?
During the Great Depression when children stood next to parents in bread lines?
During WW I when my father was separated from the father he'd yet to meet for seven years?
During the fiery piles, screaming with pain, during that religious war, better known as THE SPANISH INQUISITION?
During the Dark Ages?
During yesteryear when one warring tribe slaughtered and enslaved another?
(Or was that yesterday, in Darfur?)
During forty brutal years of desert dwelling, wandering toward the holy land?
During prehistoric times—no fires—no wheels—just 'clubbing' our way up?


Isn't it, historically, the responsibility of adults to gather clues, which deepen the mind's sense of problem solving acuity?  Don't our beloved children prove to be each generation's ticket to bettering the future of humanity, in general?


What causes people to act like wild animals?  Human nature.


By the time my mind had emptied, my tongue had tired and my lips had zipped, my mother-in-law, who'd had reason to work really hard during her prime, was asleep on the couch.  So I got up to throw in another load of laundry, before stopping at the grocery, before driving one car pool home from school, before driving another car pool to whatever practices fell on that day, before making dinner, before cleaning up, before helping with homework, before relaxing for a several moments, cuddling with each child at bedtime, before arranging my teaching materials for the next day of class, before throwing in another load of laundry, before attending to my night time routine, before kissing my husband good night, before, sliding under the covers, opening my book, and closing my eyes before having read half a page, before the alarm rang—seemingly two minutes after the book had dropped to the floor as I'd fallen asleep—and arising with the sun—another day had begun ... and because my spirit was vital and I was healthy and young—I believed I could do it all—and because I believed in myself—I was right.  And not only did I do it, I loved it!  Because the way I'd approached most aspects of my life had been by conscious choice.
  
Whereas short sighted thoughts tend to keep our minds stuck in 'bad' places, far sighted attitudes develop an ever deepening sense of problem-solving prowess.


Needless to say, when I was twelve, the farthest I looked down the road was—tomorrow ...