Sometimes I wonder. When my boys are competing in the Body Function Olympics at the breakfast table, when the little ones are bickering for the 4,012th time during the same day, when my oldest tries yet AGAIN to whine his way out of algebra, I wonder.
Will they ever grow up? And have we completely messed up trying to raise these goofballs into civilized adults? Is it too late to trade them in?
And then I get blessed with a moment when I know either we’ve done something right raising them, or God has blessed them mercifully with sweetness despite my parenting skills.
My little girl has been sick all week. 6 days straight of lying listlessly on the couch, moving nothing more than a thumb on the remote control, and raising her voice no higher than a pitiful croaking whisper. And suddenly, my boys are compassionate, dedicated, protective brothers. They’ve waited on her hand and foot this week, fetching blankets, movies, chicken soup and water bottles at her whim, and giving her piggyback rides to the bathroom so she won’t tire out. It makes my heart sing to see such sweet moments.
Oh, I know they’re still my boys and not alien duplicates, because back in the living room they revert to picking at each other and suggesting that Valentine’s Day ought to be a holiday from school.
Jordi will get well, and all will return to normal, thankfully. I miss my sunshine girl. In the meantime, I enjoy little peeks into the sweeter side of stinky-head boys. It gives me hope that someone, someday will marry them and not regret it.