The other night I went into my 7-year-old son’s room to tell him goodnight. Prayers had already been said, teeth had been brushed, and now he sat in bed with an array of adventure chapter books and a flashlight – his nightly sleeping companions.
“You know, J,” I said as I approached his bed, “I am so proud of you. You are trying so hard at school, you are so kind to everyone you meet … you really are an incredible boy.”
“J?” I asked. He looked up at me and I realized he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. He was so intent on his book he hadn’t even heard me enter the room. “You didn’t hear me at all?” I feigned exasperation. “You like your 39 Clues book so much you don’t even care that your only mother is talking with you!” I was tickling him at this point. He laughed at my silliness and said, “But you like it when I read!”
He’s right so I kissed him on the forehead (not an easy task considering he sleeps on the top bunk) and said goodnight. When I got to the door he called out, “Mom?”
He looked me right in the eyes and said, “I do care that you’re proud of me.”
My heart could have burst out of my chest right then. My sweet, sweet boy.