Kangaroos don’t high-five. Those are the first words my sweet girl spoke when she woke up this morning. I chuckled to myself, thinking she was still asleep (oh what this child says in her sleep), but then second guessed myself and said aloud, “What did you say?” She yawned, then repeated, “Kangaroos don’t high five.” I don’t know what spurred the thought and we never talked about it, because her next (and immediate) question was whether or not the sun was up, then if it was daytime, if it was a school day, and what were we going to have for breakfast. This is how our mornings typically start. It is, in so many ways, perfection.
Then the day moves forward, and the perfection wanes. It’s all perspective, of course, and throughout the course of the day my perspectacles can get a bit wonky. Water cups get spilled (at seemingly every meal), the cats are chased relentlessly, those letters we worked so hard on are painstakingly written in crayon….on the sofa, and small bookshelves are dragged across wooden floors leaving scratches deeper than I can fix with a little olive oil. And sometimes, when I’m tired and cranky, when it’s rained for days and what we desperately need is to go out and play, when the children can sense my mama defenses are low and they seemingly push EVERY button I have, I ask (yes, sometimes, yell), “AUGGH!!! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???” And now I know.
They think about whether or not kangaroos high five, and that’s exactly the kind of thing they SHOULD be thinking about, because they’re four. Because at four years old, or five or six, or younger, and sometimes even older, they are simply not responsible for knowing that a scratched wooden floor is terrible for resale. Their pride at correctly writing an “H” (or, as it was, five “H’s”) can instantly disappear with the harsh reprimand that comes from a mama seeing crayon on the sofa (and, I hate to admit, overlooking the beautifully and correctly written “H’s” adorning the back and arms). The spilled water is nothing they can’t easily (and almost always happily) clean up with a towel. And the cats, well the reality is that they’re actually much faster than the kids. If they don’t like being chased, they know how to make themselves scarce.
We as parents, we have such an opportunity to offer our kids a bit of grace. We shouldn’t expect them to think like we do, it’s not their job. One day they will think like us. One day they will know that dragging a bookshelf will scratch the floor and they will ask for help in picking it up. And we can gently and loving teach them those lessons as we learn the need for them (for instance, and unfortunately, after the floor has been scratched at least once). But for now, let’s let grace be what we’re about and what we give, again and again and again. Our kids will not only feel loved, but will learn from what we model for them and they in turn will give grace to others. And couldn’t we all use a little more grace? A little more forgiveness? A little more love? So take a deep breath, Mamas, and know that crayon isn’t that hard to scrub off the sofa. Believe me, I know.