This phrase has been running through my head for months. It has it’s limitations, no one wants to be childish, but I have come to believe that if I watch closely, my children can teach me everything I need to know about how to live well.
Justin and I were in the middle of discussions of when and how and what to teach our children about sex/physical affection/body ownership when AJ did these two things within an hour of each other.
“Guy broke,” AJ says. Pointing to the broken wiseman on my desk, his eyes still sleepy from his nap.
I nod, distracted, in the middle of an online class.
“I know,” I say. “It makes me sad.”
His eyes open wider, he reaches up, wraps both arms tightly around my neck, and presses his warm body into mine. his hand patting my back.
I look away from the computer and hold him as long as he’ll let me.
An hour later my twelve year old jumps on him, giving him an overly exuberant hugs and tickling his tummy.
“Stop! I don’t like it!” the baby yells.
It takes a minute, but the twelve year old stops.
“But that makes me sad,” he says, an exaggerated frown across his face.
AJ walks away completely unconcerned.