Waiting for the bus on this cool morning, fall in the air, I hear an old woman behind us.”Such wonderful children! They behave so well!”
I search around with my eyes quietly until I realize she’s talking about my daughters. I look back at the girls, who are sitting chatting with a little heartbreaker named Kyle, he of brush cut and toothy grin, sharing the stoop of a doorway.
“Oh, mine? Yes, they are, today.”
I minimize their goodness. I reduce the times when then act as I expect to smaller moments than I should. They ARE good kids. They DO listen. They are happy to be with me. They are learning. They speak kindly and properly to other children and adults.
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(Vivian sees man in Cowboy hat)
“Wow! A man in a cowboy hat! Cool! Is he a cowboy?’
“Ask him Vivian.” I snicker a little, inside of course
“Are you a cowboy!” she bellows?
“No.” he grins “I just kinda like the hat.” He smiles gently at her. She beams back.
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They spread joy and warmth where ever they go most days. They are fine children I should be proud of. They are the children I wanted when I first learned they would be mine.
It’s time to focus more on them, on how they are that makes me happy, rather than how they are that upsets me. When they misbehave, it’s more like a wolf attacked a sheep, it’s nature, and it’s necessary. How I react dictates how the day is spent.
Time to stop reacting to the things I hate most I wager.
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We ride the bus home with Kyle and his Grandma. Vivian drills him on what he likes.
“Do you like Tigers?”
“YEAH!”
“Do you like snakes?”
“Yeah!”
and on and on and on it goes.
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