by Madeleine Angelo

Created on: July 20, 2008

The stresses of childrearing get a lot of air time. I have certainly benefitted from being able to share these stressors with others who understand. Through this sharing we hopefully learn ways to better care for our children and ourselves. So too we must share the simple joys, humor, and lessons of having a child...

This afternoon, I sneak up on my two year old daughter, Paige, while she is entranced by Winnie the Pooh and the gang. I begin to brush her hair. My original intention was to work through the dried milk and tangles so that we could go to the store. Instead of stopping there, however, I continue to brush... and brush... and brush. I take delight in the manner in which her curls fall gently to her shoulders after being stroked. I feel myself transcended somehow into the world past, in which women brushed their hair hundreds of strokes before going to bed at night. Perhaps I watched too much 'Little House on the Prairie' as a child, I don't know. My point is that the simple act of brushing my child's hair has suddenly made all in life worthwhile - all the stresses of work and family - all the pressures of modern community - it has all disappeared for these few moments while I brush.

Moments such as these come and go so quickly that we need to keep reminding ourselves to be awake to them. It is so tempting to disappear into agendas, getting from place to place; from activity to activity. We need to slow down and enjoy the simple acts in life.

Amid the stream and waxing poetical, my mind shifts suddenly, as it will often do when minding a two year old child. "Okay, I have put it off long enough," I think. The irritating noise of Paige's nails clicking on the coffee table as she is attempting to mount it like a racehorse has both distracted and inspired me. Right after I instruct her to get off the coffee table, I stroll into the bathroom and remove from the drawer a giant set of clippers. This monstrosity is large enough to trim an elephant's nails, I believe.

I bring them out and nonchalantly pull her onto my lap with a few hugs and tickles to distract her from the sheer size of the tool I am about to apply to her tiny fingers. She is no fool, however. With one brief sideways glance she launches into a litany of "No! No! No!" followed by loud screams and intense freedom bound wiggles. I weigh the pros and cons of contacting Guinness to find out just how long her daggers need to be before they will come out and take her picture.

Then, as suddenly as her

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