A star was shining in the early evening light. In an attempt to distract Nelson further I asked, "Michael, look at that star. What do you think that one is?" Michael peered at it, "Kind of bright; otherwise I would say it's Venus."

A star was shining in the early evening light. In an attempt to distract Nelson further I asked, "Michael, look at that star. What do you think that one is?" Michael peered at it, "Kind of bright; otherwise I would say it's Venus." I stared at it a little longer, then murmured, "Not a satellite then, or a moon, but Venus?" Nelson piped up, "Mama Zanda, moons don't go to Venus." He was all seriousness; a three-year-old's logic is a wondrous thing. Michael buzzed his fingers over Nelson's hair, "That's right, sport, moons don't go to Venus." After Michael took Nelson to bed, I remained in the room pondering Nelson's words. The phrase was so unusual, yet thought-provoking. Moons don't go to Venus - it came off the tongue like a prophecy. It sounded so profound, yet was in reality a simple statement uttered by a child not quite four. I could easily picture myself back in my university days with friends taking such a statement and spending hours unravelling its "hidden meanings". But really, all Nelson said was a basic truth. Moons don't travel around space. Maybe that is motherhood, a seemingly profound state of being that is, in its own way, simple. A mother is a mom, not a philosophy test. Perhaps I'm making this harder than it needs to be. Then again, maybe not.