Little D's hermit crab died this morning. Well, we aren't sure when exactly, because hermit crabs are not widely known for their lively approach to life. It's hard to know precisely when he took his last...
Oh wait. He just moved. He's alive. phew.
You know the funny thing? When D came up to tell me that the crab was dead, he was crying, which was a little surprising. But I attributed it to lack of sleep, a pretty rough day at school yesterday, and generally a heightened state of emotion all around. It wasn't just a wetting of the eyes, or a tantrum cry. It was a genuine heartache cry, and so of course I cried. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the loss of Bolt that drew out my tears, but my kids' heartache tears are directly linked to mine. The valves are on the same knob. His tantrum tears, scraped knee tears and anger tears are not. These tears prompt action or frustration or scowls of disappointment. But woa - those heartache tears. Immediate sympathy, empathy, compassion, care, concern, tenderness, .... get out the tissue, those are Mama tears.
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