Yesterday afternoon, I took the kids over to my parents’ property so they could run around with sharp, pointy sticks and play with fire (or, as the case may be, stick the sharp, pointy sticks in the fire and then run around with them) while I went for a walk.
My husband and older son were already up there working. When schedules allow, my son has been getting up early to hitch a ride over to the property with his dad, or sometimes he’ll ride the 2 ½ miles on his bike.
After a full day of work, my son glows with sunburn, sweat, and pride at being able to wear a tool belt and his papa’s straw hat and work boots. He’s pretty pumped about having his own packed lunch and getting to hang out with The Men.
I confess, seeing my son caulking boards up there yesterday, my heart swelled up just a bit. Finally, after all these years of trying to get him to jump in and apply himself already, he’s finally doing it.
However, my back-patting got cut short first thing this morning when I assigned him the simple tasks of scrubbing the bathroom floor and sweeping the porches. He did a staggeringly horrendous job and then had a hissy fit when I insisted they be redone properly. (I won.)
So, to summarize, the gig’s not up yet. But still, it’s nice to see glimpses of the future.
(And, to be clear, it’s the hard worker that I see in the future, not the hissy fitter. Call me Pollyanna, but in cases such as these, I’m an eternal optimist.)
This same time, years previous: polyester bras