Almost nightly, I think of the movie Kill Bill.  

That scene where she essentially karate chops herself out of a buried coffin is one that has stuck with me.  The helplessness I would feel in that situation cripples me in fear, and a simultaneous gasp for air always accompanies the relieving realization that it is j u s t  a  m o v i e.  

This is not the scene I’m referring to, thankfully and however.

I finally put to thought-words, that which I have felt each time I check on the girls before bed.  And it takes me to the scene where where Beatrix (“The Bride”) tucks her daughter into bed after having to carefully maneuver her daughter’s slumbering head off of her arm.  I don’t recall the scene perfectly, but I do remember there was something so delicate about how she handled her sleeping daughter, so lovingly, so care-fully. Perhaps the dichotomy of the artistically gory scenes surrounding this one added to its poignancy and therefore its affect on me, or maybe Uma Thurman deserves the credit for creating such a connective moment through her craft, but it left me with the overall (and overwhelming) sensation that I couldn’t wait to have a child of my own one day, to treat with such love, gentleness and care.  

It’s a small yet powerful moment of gratitude that comes forth when I’m in my girl’s room, looking at their slumbering bodies, Kill Bill in my hind-thoughs and a strong awareness of the notion that "I GET to have this moment”.  

 © Houseman 2013