Pride and Joy

I know, you're not suppose to brag on your own kids. Why? Cuz everybody else wants to brag on theirs. I know, I know. So I'll make you a deal... You start a blog and brag on your kids ALL you want - and I'll do the same. Deal? Wait. Already did. 

A person's pride and joy can refer to about anything. Mine happens to be my kids. The pride comes in those moments when they shine: using the manners you've drilled, ad nauseam, or they perform some selfless act, completely of their own volition.

This week, Dax has been a gem. He's pushed his brother on the swing, lovingly instructed him, helped me unload the dishwasher... and the other day at Target, he was helping me load the bags into the car. An older woman walking by said, "Wow! You really have a great helper there!" I agreed and thanked her. I was SO proud. He's four! He could have been demanding candy or running in the parking lot (both of which he has at times), but in that moment, he was doing what we're raising him to do - and I was proud of him, proud FOR him. 

The joy comes, I think, in those moments when they not only make the "not best" choice, but a choice you'd never have DREAMED of. You have to laugh, to snap your mental camera, or you'll cry, or something worse. 

A friend came to see us today. The boys were NUTS; I sent them upstairs to play so we could have an "adult" conversation. It got eerily quiet, but I ignored my instincts and thought, "Oh Dax is up there, he won't let Draes do anything serious." (Usually he's instant with the "HELP Mommy, Draes is..."). About 10 minutes later Dax materialized in front of me, "Look, Mommy," he beamed, and produced from his shirt sleeve a little hand, covered ENTIRELY in GREEN marker. Mustering my most encouraging mommy-ness, I said. "Oh honey, that's very creative, but we don't really draw on our hands. You need to go wash in the bathroom until that's all clean." "Ok, he smiled." And was gone. About 2 minutes later, Dusty came down with Draes. "Look what I have," he baited. I looked up to see my 15-month-old PAINTED! Yes! Dots, squiggles, green, purple - all over his face! 

No big deal, truthfully, because some wonderful person invented washable markers, so, we're good. The clothes, the skin, the floor... it'll all clean up. In that instant, I could not help but laugh in joy at the mental image of Dax, oh-so-quietly decorating his brother. He must have been giddy! Can you fathom the wonder in the heart and mind of a child? Yes, we talked about how it's not wise to paint our brother, but it felt SO good not to take it too seriously. 

There are days they push my buttons so fully, that once they're in bed, I can only muster energy to sit and stare into space :) (and yes, 3 may turn my brain to COMPLETE mush), but far outweighing those times  are the moments of pride, when they bless me by putting others first and the moments of joy that come from their giddy, wild imperfection and the creativity it pours into my... sometimes-too-neat perspective. 

I know God gave them to us to raise, yet I can't help but feel He uses them to raise me a little bit too.