My 3-year-old didn’t come with warning labels but he should have.
I texted my sisters last week and said, “Esben will be the single most likely reason I lose my ever-loving mind before he turns 5.”
It’s not that he’s a terrible kid. Quite the opposite. He’s a happy, funny, intelligent soul with a tangible zest for life.
But the boy doesn’t leave a whole lot of time between the inception of an idea and the execution of it to consider the ramifications and/or consequences.
For example, last week, he went tearing through the house at as close to top speed as he could muster in the 2.49 seconds of history this whole scenario spanned.
Except prior to that decision, he made another decision. He wanted to wear socks.
So here comes the blondest stocking-footed tornado I’ve ever seen, going Mach 1.2 into the kitchen and he needs to turn the corner.
You can probably guess where this is going. Of course, being the irrational entity that all 3-year-olds are, he was immediately mad at me because I just stood there and watched it happen.
Then there’s this past weekend, when I made 15 dozen cookies by mistake. That’s not a misprint, that’s what happens when the tornado tries to help and I misread 1 1/2 cups of peanut butter for 1 1/2 cups of just regular butter.
My kitchen was a disaster. But I guess my house smells good?
Also, free cookies at my house…
So yes, I’ll be over here losing my mind trying to keep this kid alive. But man, we sure love him.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? Sometimes as parents, I think we forget that. I get so worried about the consequences of rocks in my washing machine that I forget to marvel at the fact that he had the idea to put them in his pocket in the first place.
In light of recent events around our country, incidents where lives were lost or altered in very public, very tragic ways, I want to remind us all to cherish those moments a little harder. Embrace the dandelion bouquet. Take the snuggles that come with wiggles and elbows and last about twice as long as wipeouts. Teach kindness and courage in equal measures. These days are fleeting.
And coaches? I see you, too, in those moments when I’m catching up to you at the same time your kids arrive for their post-game hugs, and you’re not always sure who to greet first.
I’ll answer that for you. Kid hugs come first. They couldn’t care less if you won or lost, but they’ll forever remember if I got your attention before they did.
Now, who needs cookies?
