This Is A True Story

Sometimes I am convinced that my children are actually better people than me.

Kinder than I am.

More compassionate.

Speedier in love and more perceptive.

For example . . .

It had been a long day.

Long.

And I was home trying to get the younger kids corralled after soccer practice.  Riley was hanging out with friends.  Kevin was working.  I was trying to feed Wilder his last bottle before bed.  Finn was dumping rubber stamps on the floor and spilling blue ink.  Bergen was sitting on the red chest trying to remove his cleats.  Mosely had already removed her cleats and wanted to put them away in the red chest upon which Berg’s bum was sitting.  They began a loud discussion of who should move and how and why not  and the discussion was escalating into screams despite London’s efforts to control the situation in her own way.

I just wanted everyone to be quiet because Wilder is easily distracted these days and instead of drinking his bottle he wanted to see what all the commotion was and I wanted to put him to bed so I could have one down and four more to go.

I politely (basically) asked Finn to put away the stamps and Bergen to move and Mosely to quit screaming.

But nothing really changed.

You see what is happening here?

A little perfect storm – right?

Yes.

And I was the storm.

I think I shouted something to the effect of “Would you all please just be obedient?”

It must have been my tone.

Or the deep sigh that followed my overbearing request.  (The request was fine, really, but the manner in which it was delivered – less than fine, I am sure.)

And although things went south in Wilder’s bedroom – no more bottle drinking, wriggling free, escaping from my grasp – things took a different turn in the sunroom.

There was a moment of silence.  Mosely leaped up to help encourage Finn to stash the rubber stamps back in their box.  Berg hopped off the chest.  I heard feet scurrying and chairs being put in homes and scissors slashing through paper in a frenzied fashion.

I gave up on Wilder’s last bottle, tucked him off to bed with his yellow blanket and turned to leave his room.

At the door I was greeted first by London – hands stretched out, offering me a paper heart.  Inside the folded heart it said, “I love you Mommy”.

That grabbed my heart right then.

I knelt down and hugged that little kid so tightly and breathed in her fuzzy blonde-headedness.

Still in mid-embrace, Mosely and Finn joined the hug.

“Mommy, would some coconut make you feel better?”  that little Willow asked.

It wouldn’t, but I could not bear to tell her that so I just nodded, hoping she didn’t actually plan on offering me any.

London untangled herself from me and asked in the most grown up manner, “Mom, is there anything we can do to help you tonight?”

Seriously?

How old is this kid?

Just six, upon my last recollection.

“Um, actually, just hugging me makes me feel so much better guys.”

And then the hugs began afresh.

I just stood there, hugging three of my beautiful daughters, feeling as if I was witnessing growth before my eyes, and I did not let go first.

When our hug fest finally ceased we walked into the kitchen and Bergen was already there, sheepish and standing beside the counter.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” he started.  “I’m sorry for being disobedient.”

And then he pushed a little peace offering my way.

My favorite glass (thanks Rachael) filled with my favorite juice with ice cubes.

Before I could speak, the six-year-old mother hen of the home stepped forward, “Bergen?  You poured this juice all by yourself?  This was all your idea?  I am so proud of you.  Come here.”  And London reached for her nearly-as-tall-as-her brother and hugged the mess out of him too.

(It was pretty adorable, I tell you.)

Honestly, how could anyone stay sad or angry in a house filled with this kind of love?

It was a rare night.

This sort of thing does not constantly occur.

But it isn’t all that out of the ordinary either.

And that is pretty phenomenal to a mostly selfish person such as myself.

I’m not really sure how these kids actually got this way.

But I’ll tell you what –

it makes me realize that

man, I don’t want to be like me.

I don’t want them to be like me.

I want to be like them.