Playdough

This week, my to-do list goes something like this:

• Make playdough with June;
• Hike with the kids;
• Read with the kids;
• Work on John's sleeping habits;
• Make a family wall of pictures;
• Finish making bags for the kids;
• Clean the house;
• Cook a bunch of soup;

Then last night, I went to a meditation for a close friend and father of two who is having surgery today to remove a tennis ball-sized tumor from his head.  

I want to push away the previous sentence, make it disappear, and dwell in my child-focused world. Under our roof, there is creating and learning and innocence and raw emotions.  Cancer does not fit with children.  It doesn't fit for adults either, though we have knowledge of life's suffering and scope.

Last night, June bragged to me that she watched 'Planet Earth' while I was away.  The part where the lion ate the elephant.  I can't stand the thought of her seeing that on a screen.  She doesn't really absorb the scene, but it represents something that big people can watch.  She thinks that it's where she's headed.  Being able to 'handle' these things.  But here, we are all travelers in the dark.

Today, while my friend has surgery, we'll be listening to Sing Sing a Song.  June and John will dance.  We'll knead our playdough, roll it around, feel the warmth in our hands.  Although we will be together in  this child's world, I will not lose myself in it.  But it holds such beauty and light, and that's what I'd like to give my friend -- for strength today, and joy in a lifetime of days to follow.