A few months ago, back in our playground-going days (which feels like eons ago, really. Winter here can feel so LONG), a group of us mamas were standing around, chatting with one another while the kids were running around playing.

While listening to one mama talk, I kept an eye out for Ishu who was playing near the sandbox.

I looked past him and could see that there were three kids walking toward the trash. One of them was jumping up and down, trying to grab a stick from the other ones hand. The third kid was simply accompanying them both.

I could see that the one reaching for the object was getting desperate. Shouting, “GIVE THAT BACK!”

But the kid holding the stick was marching on over to the trash.

All at once, the kid holding the object tossed it into the recycling bin (which is irretrievable, the way these cans are designed).

The one child – that had wanted the stick back – was DEVASTATED.

He ran over to the group of grown-ups and crashed into his mama, wailing.

Caught off guard, she looked around and looked down at him.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here,” she repeated, as she hugged her little guy.

This mom didn’t ask, “What happened?” or “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t spend her time looking around, trying to figure out what went down and how to solve it.

She sat with her boy and said, “I’m here,” as he sobbed into her sweatshirt.

And then, when he was ready, he detailed what had transpired to make him so upset.

I think back to this one interaction often.

The way the mom didn’t rush into problem solving or expecting the boy to explain exactly what had happened so she could talk him through it.

She simply knelt down, rubbed his back, and held space for him.

Every time my little guy has big, big emotions, I flash back to this moment with this mama.

And I kneel down, put my arms out, and simply wait until he’s ready.

“I’m here.”

Two words.

That’s it.

But dang, so powerful.