One day, a very long time ago, I sat holding my little boy in my arms reading him a story. That day, we read and upon completion of the story, I sat him in his high chair in front of me for him to ponder on the story on his own. Well, we repeated the little scene three times that day. Until at last, I said to him, “Now you sit there reading your story quietly while Mommy reads hers.”

I saw his chin start to quiver so I added, “Think you can do that? Like a big boy?”

“I shink I can,” he replied. He sat a little taller and I smiled.

… so yes, there we were sitting across from each other when I sighed a little too loud as I looked at the model on the page of my foreign magazine. She was pretty and her curly hair looked amazing.

Instantly, my little man shot up from his high chair and ran to my side to investigate.
“Whas wong, Mommy?” he asked in his adorable little boy drawl, “you want your hair to look like that mommy’s?”

And see here? He called the model on the page ‘that mommy’ …because to kids, all women are mommies. That is their level of comprehension of the world. And the same goes for daddies. All men are daddies!

On with the true story

So, yeah. I have curly hair, but never in a million years would my hair look the way that young lady’s looked. And I know this!

So on to his question, “You want your hair to look like that mommy’s?”

“Er, mn hmh,” I ejaculated through my nostrils while my little hero looked at the model intently.

Full of resolve, he said, “Don’t be sad, Mommy. I can do that hair for you.”

Now, I don’t know where he got the idea that I was sad. Jealous, maybe. Tired, yes! But sad? Nah. But I must have looked forlorn to my little man for him to think that his mommy was sad. Or mad, as in angry. At him? Or perhaps he just didn’t know the word he needed in that situation. Anyway, don’t be sad, is what he said.

So then he did something that I remember fondly to this day. He climbed onto the chair next to me and tousled my hair. Yeah, as in rumpled, you know? And he used both of his chubby, dimpled hands to do my hair.
And when he was done doing it, “There,” he said, “are you happy now, Mommy?”

Hm, happy is the opposite of sad. So you see, he did mean sad.

Oh my heart, yes!

This mommy was so happy! Sure, my hair was a tangled mess. Uh, Huh. But I was ecstatic, as in when one experiences a mystic self-transcendence of sorts. I was happy.

My child’s keen eye, his loyalty to me, his immediate call-to-action, and his unconditional desire to please me that day brought happy tears to my eyes that I remember to this day.

Nice story, Selma, you’re thinking. What’s the moral of the story?

 

Yeah! Well, that is the moral in the story.

See, sometimes when we sit engrossed in our own thoughts, sometimes, inadvertently, we give the impression that something’s not right. I could have been sad that day. At what? I do not remember. But that it was just him and I at the table reading our books, of that I am sure.

And who is closer to us mothers than our children? No one. No really, no one is as close to us — observing us, memorizing our features and our moods, interpreting them, and finally imitating them — as our children are.

True dat!

 

Every stay-at-home-mom will tell you how their toddlers cling to their every word and action, memorizing and imitating, and even following them into the toilet. For god’s sake! They do! And to every child, their mothers could do no wrong. And in their childish ways, every child wants to be like their mothers then. And when they can’t they want to please them at every turn. It is also true of their fathers — of this I’m sure.

Children want to be like their fathers — of this I’m sure.

So parents, be good role models for your children. The future of humankind depends on it. You’re tired and feel spent, I know. I’ve been there. But there’s no other job in the world quite as rewarding as that of being a good parent.

On behalf of every human, I thank you.

Say cheese…

As I was writing this today, I thought back to Dorothy Law Nolte’s book that helped me through my child-rearing years. In it is a wonderful poem written in the 1950s that is still, or rather, that is more relevant today than ever before. Here’s a link to the author-approved short version of Dorothy Law Nolte Ph.D.’s famous poem ‘Children Learn What They Live.’ Do you know the poem?

As for me and the conclusion to the story of me and my kiddo, well, that little boy did not become a hairdresser as you might have assumed from the story. Did you? No. Not that there’s anything wrong about choosing the hairdressers’ profession. Please don’t muddle my words. I love my hairdressers. They help me tame my unruly hair.

I love my hairdresser!

My son turned into a gentle human being, and thanks to him and his big brother I too turned into a good human.

I love my sons.
They are my role models.

LET ME TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO WISH ALL MY GIRLFRIENDS,
COUSINS, AND YOU, MY READER, AN EARLY “HAPPY MOTHERS-DAY!”
LIKEWISE TO MY MOTHER WHO LIVES IN HEAVEN.
MOTHERS ROCK!! 

THANKS FOR READING.
I Wish You Miracles.