'Heeeey' whines a 4 year old voice from across the room for what feels like the 100th time. 'My Lego firetruck helicopter broke.' I want to say 'Kiddo, that's what happens when you make the bad guys push the good guys off the side of the table. Besides, there's no such thing as firetruck helicopters.' But instead I take a deep breath and think about this 4 year old and his 4 years of life.
My mind takes me back to another day. A short video. Children playing. A woman's voice, first normal, but within a few seconds it's an angry voice. A loud, angry voice shouting expletives at cowering children who were just doing normal children things. And this little 4 year old boy sits, intently focused on the screen in front of him. The screen that is playing out normal life for him.
It's a hard life. The life where you never know which adult will erupt at you next for something you didn't know not to do, or something you tried, but failed, to do all on your own. A life where you hear about or watch fighting and ghosts and shooting on TV for a few days a week, and then at your other 'home' you are reprimanded for playing the same things you hear about and see. A life with a semi-normal routine between two homes that easily changes if suddenly you inconvenience one home or the other.
I think about this all, and I realize that what Kiddo needs is security. That he's testing me to find out if I will be there when he needs me.
So what do I do? I leave what I'm doing, give tearful Kiddo a smile and a hug, and go and rebuild that Lego firetruck helicopter.