Every now and then, I get little glimpses that let me know that what I’m trying to instill is actually reaching something deep down in the cores of my girls.
A young punk in a gas-guzzling Hummer cuts me off (forcing me to slam on brakes) because my mini-van, moving at the posted 30 mph, is keeping him from making it to the next traffic light 2.1 seconds faster.
Mommy: You stupid jerk! I have kids in this car!
M.: Mommy, do we say that word?
D.: You can’t say that, Mommy. It’s not very nice.
The girls are making strawberry and macaroni soup in their toy kitchen. I bump into their stove as I’m sweeping up the chalk they’ve crushed under their roller skates a few moments earlier.
Mommy: Oops! I’m sorry.
M.: Get your butt out of my kitchen! This stove is hot!
It’s 7 PM, and this is my first meal all day. I sit down at the table and start twirling a huge hunk of spaghetti around my fork. I push the forkful into my mouth.
Mommy: Oh my goodness! This is so good!
D.: Did you say your prayers, young lady?
I’ve gathered up my bags and found my keys. I’ve kissed the girls and reminded them that I want to hear good things when I pick them up from school. I’m heading out of the door when I remember that I have a husband.
Daddy:I was wondering if you still loved me.
Mommy, smiling: I loved you first. Remember that.
We kiss way more passionately than usual for a Wednesday morning.
D.: Not on the lips! No, not on the lips!