I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
July 7, 2010
>”Mommy, what are tears of joy?” Punky asked me the other day.
“Well,” I said. “Sometimes you’re so happy or proud or overwhelmed by something wonderful that you cry- and those would be tears of joy.”
Punky frowned. “I don’t understand how anyone could cry when they’re happy,” she said.
“They can, though,” I said. “When you and Bruiser were born, I cried tears of joy. And when you do something really special, sometimes I’m so proud of you it makes me cry.”
She smiled, but I could tell she didn’t really buy my explanation. Tears were for scraped knees and arguments with her brother. They weren’t for… joy. They just weren’t.
At around 4am this morning, I was woken by a loud bump out in the hall. I sat up in bed as the hallway bathroom light flicked on. In a few seconds, Punky came running out of the bathroom, headed for our room.
“What is it, Punky?” I asked, jumping out of bed.
“I woke up and was so scared!” she said. Quickly, I picked her up and gave her a hug. I had been afraid this would happen. Her closet nightlight had burned out the night before and I hadn’t had a replacement bulb. Hubs had turned out the hallway light when he came to bed, so when Punky woke up, she was in total darkness.
I turned the hallway light back on and the bathroom light off. By this time, Bruiser was awake, too.
“Can I sleep with you guys?” Punky asked as I tucked her back into bed.
“No,” I said softly. “Bruiser will be so scared if you leave him in here all by himself.”
“I want milk, Mommy!” Bruiser said.
“Okay,” I whispered to him. “I’ll be right back.”
I went downstairs to get him some milk and when I came back, I could hear Punky sniffling in her bed. I felt horrible for telling her she had to stay there, but I just didn’t see any other solution. We couldn’t fit both kids in our bed, and even if I tried, it would take them forever to get back to sleep. I gave Bruiser his milk and went back to Punky. She was touching her face and smiling.
“Tears of joy, Mommy!” she said softly. “I just cried tears of joy!”
“Really?” I asked, confused. “Why?”
“Because I’m being so brave for my little brother,” she said. She smiled and turned over, ready to go back to sleep.
I may have cried a few tears of joy, too.
I’m not saying.
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