Washing Dishes, Watching A Blessing

Parenting a toddler is a constant reminder that someone is watching…ALL.THE.TIME.  This little bitty body you’ve been entrusted to somehow raise from an infant to adult sees what you do, how you do it, and with what attitude you do it with.  Every once in a while, you get lucky, and they turn out OK despite you.

I recently had the privilege of seeing a glimmer of the gentleman my baby boy may someday become.  After finishing breakfast (which took a good 45 minutes of refocusing, bargaining, and negotiating, mind you), K requested some water in a big boy cup.  I reluctantly agreed, reminding him to stay at the table while he drank from his cup sans sippy top.  As I headed to the bathroom to brush my hair, I hear the agonizing screech of a chair being pulled across the tile floor.

“K, what are you doing, buddy?”

“I wash, Mommy.”

As I turn around, nervous of what I would find, I see my son standing on his chair, belly up to the sink, sponge in hand, preparing to wash his cup.  All I could do was stand in silence and awe as he turned on the sink and proceeded to wet, scrub, and rinse his cup, all tasks being narrated in his babbling sentences.

Minutes later, because, yes, it takes minutes to properly clean a cup that once contained water, he proclaimed that he was “DONE”, placed the cup not-so-gently in the drying rack.  He turned to me soaked and proud with a gigantic grin streaking across his face.

As my boy climbed down the chair, I had to turn away and shed a tear of humility and joy.  Again came the screech.  I looked and saw K bring the chair to the paper towels, tear off more than I’d care to waste, and begin singing “dry, dry, dry” as he mopped up the puddle of water he had created moments earlier.

How did I get so blessed?  How did I get the honor of being this little boy’s mommy?  Because surely, I do not wash dishes with such enthusiasm.