The Rooster likes to be carried from the couch to her bed after her bedtime stories.
The Mayor asks his father to pick him up and gently toss him into bed every night.
Like most children, they both want to be picked up and carried a lot -- especially when they are tired, sad or hurt.
After carrying them to bed last night, K and I talked about our own memories of being carried.
There was such safety and comfort in it.
I have a distinct memory of when my parents stopped being able to carry me, though I don't know how old I was.
Something I relied on was suddenly gone. I remember feeling strangely cut off and really sad.
Wouldn't it be amazing if you could be picked up like that again, to be completely enveloped in the strong and protective arms of someone two or three times your size?
Remembering the feeling, I daydreamed of losing myself in my Grandmother's soft lap, riding my father's shoulders on a hike through the mountains and climbing into my mother's bed and fitting myself into the curve of her belly.
I remembered resting my head in the spot where my father's neck met his shoulder.
My body relaxed, the whole weight of it supported by his arms, lulled by the cadence of his gait.
Sometimes I slept.
I was so safe there.
Do you remember when it ended?
"You're too big to be carried. I can't pick you up anymore. You're too heavy now."