Seeing the Big Picture

“Mommy, let’s walk to the park,” four-year-old Andrew begged that first warm day after a long Wisconsin winter. I wasn’t really up for it. Too tired. Too much to do. Marriage on the rocks. In short, I was struggling with my life, my job, my marriage and worn out to the bone.

But the little guy begged. “Please, Mommy!” I followed him outside as he scampered out the front door.

“Let’s climb that hill!” he squealed.

I stalled. “There are too many tall weeds.”

“There’s a path!”

At the top he turned to run down. Before I could caution him to slow down he’d fallen face down, then rolled the length of the hill. I expected tears and loud wails.

“Hey Jill! I went up to get a pail of water and I fell down and broke my crown!” His laughter was contagious.

The path led into the woods. Andrew stopped cold. “Gretel, I think we’re lost. Did you bring any bread crumbs to drop on the path? What if the wicked witch gets us?”

“Oh, Hansel, the birds ate all the bread crumbs. You’ll have to take care of that witch if we meet her.”

We came to the footbridge that spanned the creek. Andrew scampered down the bank underneath the bridge. “Mommy, walk across the bridge.”

I obeyed, wondering what he was up to now. Then a wee voice trying to sound mean and ornery shouted, “Who’s that tramping on my bridge?”

I followed my cue. “It’s just the littlest billy goat gruff. Don’t eat me up!”

Walking home, the late afternoon shadows were taller than we were. Andrew put his little hand in mine and said aloud, “I love you, Mommy!”

And somehow my world of too much to do, not enough time, and problems galore, took on a new dimension. I’d discovered that even the smallest child can help us see what’s really important in life. On that day, it was a walk in the park with a four-year-old that brought me to my senses.