One of our movers almost brought me to tears.
He was an older guy--old enough that he talked about his grandbabies. He was just a good guy--a hard worker and a pleasant presence. And he said, off the cuff, about my little guys, "they're awesome kids", or something to that effect. "When kids are that happy, you must be doing something right. Or at least that's what I think."
It was a win, when I needed a win. A free offering for a thirsty soul.
I forget, sometimes, that my kids are awesome. I know that I love them beyond measure, but I forget that there are other people who see it too. I forget sometimes that they have every bit as much right to exist in this world, and particularly in public space, as every perfectly (and imperfectly) behaved adult. Yes, of course, it is my role as a parent to try to form them into civilised members of society, but that doesn't mean that I need to feel apologetic for their very presence, eve if they are less than impeccably mannered at any given moment. Most people are probably glad to see them anyway, not cringing at their every giggle as I somehow imagine must be the case.
I'm too cynical sometimes.
They're awesome kids.
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