Today I asked my little one if he wanted the rest of his “cookie,” a food item which he loves so very much (if only he knew how many vegetables are baked into those things…) and he said, “No.” Then he told me there were “Wots” of cookies in his tummy.
If only adults (self included!) knew how to stop eating when there were “wots” of “nummies” in our tummies already. Such a simple logic, and yet… Continue reading
My two-year-old and I have a tradition of taking a walk down the block after dinner, and this always turns into a stick-picking-up fest. We always come home with about a bushel of sticks tucked into our pockets and under our arms. Tonight, he came to a great big branch and I jumped right on him (I can be SUCH a know-it-all): “Honey, that one’s a little too big.” He asked me to carry it. Feeling lazy, I white-lied: “Honey, that one’s even too big for Mama.” Not to be deterred, he picked up the whole dang branch. By himself. And carried it for almost a full block. Dragging, scraping, grunting, and groaning, but carrying it, when I would have sworn he wouldn’t even be able to pick it up.
I underestimate him all the time.
I underestimate me all the time.
What’s the worst that could usually happen? Sure, I might have to drag, scrape, grunt, and groan my way through something, but how will I ever know whether I can do it if I always start out with, “Honey, that one’s a little too big”?
Eventually, little boy arms get tired, and my son had to hand me the branch, which I was pleased to carry home for him. Sometimes we might take on something that’s a little too big and have to hand it off to someone else or ask for help. I love how kids below a certain age are never prideful about that. I love their audacity in taking on new challenges. I love that my son ignored my wimpy protestations tonight. I’ll love it if tomorrow I haven’t lost my motivation to start picking up more sticks in life… and deciding after I try whether or not they’re too big.