As a mother there are moments that take me to the brink of insanity. Moments when I look at the raging monster I helped create, laying on the floor kicking and screaming, and wonder what am I doing wrong. But then there are those blissful, wonderful, moments when I look at my children and know I am doing good (mostly this happens when they are sleeping.) One of these blissfully gratifying mother moments occurred last night.
My husband had the day off. My 3 year old and I had dentist appointments in the morning (his first, not my first) followed by a coffee date (is that bad parenting??). We then planned to take naps and head thirty miles west for a picnic, park play, and a wonderful outdoor musical that has become a family tradition (even though my husband has firmly stated makeup-ed, dancing, cowboys are not usually his thing). I love the feeling of pride and home the show gives us (and my husband, makeup-ed cowboys or not, agrees). After naps, my three year old was a wreck...the term "woke up on the wrong side of the bed" doesn't even really get close. However, we headed out anyway. I was determined to make the most of it and choose to have a positive attitude about how the remainder of the evening would unfold. We were a little rushed (as usual), but not to the point of being frazzled when we got there. The kids were a little sticky with jelly and sunscreen, but otherwise excited to see the big amphitheater and escalator. We made it to our seats just in time and only minutes after we settled in the National Anthem, signaling the start of the show, began. As I sang along with the familiar song letting my heart and mind rejoice in the gift of being an American, I looked down at my son...He was not signing (he's only three), but what he was doing was even better...he had both little hands placed on his chest and was quietly pondering the proceedings while honoring our country and our flag. I cried. In that moment, I knew I was doing something so right, and I was so so proud of the little man I helped create.