I know Mommy. I know.

It was the night before we left to visit family for Thanksgiving and I was furiously working to get all the cooking done that I had volunteered for before we hit the road.  Everything was done except the pies.  I had tested the pie a few days before (and also ate said pie almost entirely on my own) and it turned out perfectly. 

But today was different.  The pie crust wouldn’t stick together, then it was too sticky.  Back and forth I went-- water then flour then water then flour.  I slammed the dough into the bowl and shouted my disapproval at this ridiculous mess of a pie I was making.  There may have also been tears.  My house was a mess, these pies were a mess, my life was a mess.  Through the tears and my disbelief that I was THAT bad at pie making, I felt a hug around my leg.  As my sweet two year old held my leg and patted me, all she kept repeating was, “I know, Mommy.  I know.” 

Those words are the reassuring words I offer when she is upset at the world.  When she sees me pick up everything I desire at the store and toss it into the cart, but I don’t let her keep that toy she grabbed off the shelf.  I know, Addie.  I know.  When Daddy is on a call and she can’t go into his office.  I know, Addie.  I know.  When she trips and scrapes her knee.  I know, Addie.  I know.

For a few days after my pie fit, Addie would gently remind me in random places.  In the car I’d hear her say, “Mommy, I know you made apple pie.  I know.”    

It made me smile that in my time of frustration she offered the empathy I had been offering to her for two years.  She understood that I was upset and knew the only thing she could offer was her words as comfort.  I try so hard to understand her world and how it must look to her.  I lose my cool plenty, but I get down and look into her eyes and ask forgiveness.  I want her to know that I am a listening and understanding ear so that whenever she feels hurt she knows she can come to me.  I can’t fix all the injustices in this 2 year old‘s world, but I can listen and offer my ear and tell her, “It’s okay.  I know, Addie.  I know.”