Graveyard

Darkness has descended. 

It is that time of year where I remember how dark dark can be. It's easy to forget until you try to drive and realize you can't see.

It's also that time of year where my girls tell stories about how I used to drag them through the graveyard in the dark when we lived in Michigan. Hannah tells the story; Sophie was too young to remember. 

I should probably deny taking two toddlers through a cemetery in the pitch dark, but I did. In my defense, we cut through so we could access the woods for a night hike. 

I got really stir crazy with toddlers and darkness. 

I'm pretty sure they put headlamps on, but then I made them turn the lights off and adjust their night vision.

That's how I raised my girls. We lived in the delicate mix of terror, boldness, and adventure. The dark cemetery and woods freaked me out too, but a house with toddlers and a black lab nearly made me crazy. 

Stir crazy: Used among inmates in prison, it referred to a prisoner who became mentally unbalanced because of prolonged incarceration.
It is now used to refer to anyone who becomes restless or anxious from feeling trapped and even somewhat claustrophobic in an environment perceived to be more static and unengaging than can continue to hold interest, meaning, and value to and for them. (Wikipedia)

I definitely had moments of stir craziness where I couldn't read Good Night Moon or play Barbies anymore so I had to venture out and feel my blood flow again.

Sometimes I think I stay sane by venturing into the places that freak me out.  I'd rather feel terrified than trapped. 

There's a subtle undertone in our culture that tells us to avoid hard things that cause discomfort. It's my act of defiance to walk in the dark and raise my kids to do the same. At least it makes for a good story.