The Measure Of A Little Man
The family and I just got back from an amazing journey off the mainland. Maui is one fantastic, awe inspiring place. Surfing with my eight-year-old Max was definitely my personal highlight. I laughed out loud, hollared his name and gave big "hang ten" hand siganls from the water as he deftly rode the first wave he tried all the way to shore. He was a natural, and I was the proud mother hen. I will say I caught some air myself, so I have achieved a whole new level of coolness in my son's eyes.
Afterward, he looked me square in the eyes, with an "I'm dead serious" tone and said "Mom...I think this could be my profession."
Wow, he may have to find another surfing buddy when he wants to practice in our own Lake Michigan. Can you justify moving to Hawaii to chase your third grader's surfing career?
Anyway, we are finally getting over the re-entry jet lag, and are now running head first into summer here on the North Shore of Chicago.
Tonight I had an epiphany about my boys as they pertain to summertime fun. Yesterday I found $.99 butterfly nets at the local hardware store and tonight we took the two boys on an evening firefly hunt. They caught ten between them, ran around the hood, made loads of noise, and got really dirty AGAIN. ( We mistakenly bathed them before the night hike.) To make matters worse (well, actually better), we stopped off at our good friend's house along the way to run around their yard, swing on their giant tree swing, and say goodbye as they packed for a little road trip.
When we got home, I decided to rinse my little men off once more before putting them into their newly cleaned bedding. I washed their feet, and knees, and hands and faces quickly, brushed their teeth, and plopped them between the sheets.
Going back to drain the tub, it all became so clear.
The true amount of unabashed fun my boys have each day can be easily measured by observing the total amount of grime left in the tub each night.
When else in ones life can this theory be applied? What rocks is that by being the mom, I get to catch fireflies, play in the dirt, swing on the giant swing and just get really grimey too...all in the name of great parenting.
So I say all of us should measure our summer fun using the grimey tub method. Channel your inner eight year old boy and go ahead and get down and dirty!