I Lied Straight to my Child’s Face Tonight

The horrors of the real world are far scarier than the tales we tell our children

In most ways, it was a perfectly normal night. My husband left for his night shift, I fed and bathed the kids, and then put my three-and-a-half-year-old twins to bed.

We followed our usual routine, each picking out a book and then snuggling next to my daughter’s giant unicorn stuffy as I read to them. Tonight, it was Little Chick’s Breakfast, a very informative encyclopedia on rocks, followed up by the always calming Halfway Wild.

After answering 842 questions about the differences between igneous and sedimentary rocks, naming the colors of another 223 minerals and gems, arguing about how many pages of the encyclopedia we were going to read, and explaining why the little chick had to wait her turn for food at least twice, I tucked them both into their beds and said our goodnights.

As I was leaving the room, my daughter stopped me.

Monsters all around us

“I’m scared of the monsters, Mom,” she whispered as she held her bunny tight to her chest.

Her brother sat up immediately. “Don’t worry, ‘Liza, Maxie will protect us!” he assured her with all the confidence young children have in their loyal canine companion.

I walked back over to her bed and sat next to her, tucking her favorite blankie tightly around her body.

“I’m going to tell you a secret,” I said. Secrets are treasures in our house. “Monsters aren’t real. They are make-believe, so you don’t need to worry about them. Max and I will protect you too, so it’s ok to sleep.”

Whether or not she believed me, she was sufficiently calm enough to try and rest.

I didn’t mean to lie to my kid. I really didn’t. I try my best not to make promises that are out of my control.

But I hadn’t seen the news yet. The evil of another school shooting. Eighteen more kids and a teacher dead. Maybe more as I type this.

I lied to my kid.

Monsters are real.

And the devastating truth is that I cannot keep my kids safe. Because none of us can.

And tomorrow, I have to send my eight-year-old to school. Without me, or the dog, or her dad to take the next bullet that undoubtedly will come.

And we will continue to make excuses in the name of freedom and bad guys, as we let our rights to our own bodies be stripped away. Because somehow pro-life only applies to pre-life.

The relief in getting a routine night

My night was perfectly mundane. And for that, I am profoundly grateful as I grieve for those who were lost today in this senseless act of violence. At least my kids can believe that monsters aren’t real for a bit longer.

Because my words cannot do justice to what I am feeling, I will leave you with this poem from Amanda Gorman:

Schools scared to death.

The truth is, one education under desks,

Stooped low from bullets;

That plunge when we ask

Where our children

Shall live

& how

& if