There are people who consistently make "the wise decision". Then there are those who KNOW what the wise choice, or action should be, but go right ahead and be a dummy anyway. When you're in that second category, you pay for your stupidity. Usually right away - if not instantly. Rarely do the Gods wait to dish out what's coming to you. They've watched and had a good laugh, now why not the rest of humanity?

The large bandage on my right hand would be clear indicator which of those two groups I fell into yesterday. Did I know I should have walked around the house to the garage to get my leather gloves before I starting digging away at the hard compacted dirt? Yeeees. Did I know that was the SMART thing to do? Yeeees. Did I do that? Nooooooo. Why not? In the infamous words of Bill Cosby, "I dunno!"  Oh alright, maybe I do know - I was being lazy. I can't even say I was being held prisoner by aliens! I was just plain lazy and therefore self-talked my way out of having to be smart.

The result? A giant blister - now popped of course - the size of a nickel in the palm of my right hand. The worst part was, since I had this open wound, Tad and I weren't able to play in the mud like we wanted. That's what breaking up the dirt and getting rid of sharp rocks was all about. We were preparing our mud pit for hours of highly anticipated good 'ol muddy fun. It ended with me on the couch (hey he put me there!), leaning against a pile of soft pillows and covered with Tad's biggest bestest cuddly furry blanket. It was 85 degrees in the house. Penance for ignorance. He also cleaned me up and tended to my wound. His inner, very tender, Florence Nightingale came out and took control. I mean TOOK CONTROL! "This was a really bad owie, now you have to rest".

He cleaned me up, bandaged me excessively and marched me to the couch where he finished his ministrations. He made a giant pile of pillows on the couch using every single pillow in the living room. Ordered me to lay down, took off down the hall and returned with the Mother of all comfortable blankies - took both his hands and all his strength to drag it down the hall. He was so cute I couldn't not comply. After he got me cozy he went off to the kitchen to "do chores". "Do chores," I asked him? "Well yeah, that's what you do when someone gets hurt bad. You take care of them, make 'em rest, then you go do chores." And darned if that little rascal didn't pull up his stairs to the kitchen sink and wash the rest of the dirty dishes!  There weren't many to begin with so he was back at my feet in quick time, dripping wet and cute as hell.

I asked him if I could get up now. He looked at me for a beat then said, "Ya know, next time we dig, you should put your gloves on cuz now we can't play in the mud." Oh God, could I feel any smaller? Nope, not really. I was sufficiently reprimanded by a three year old. A three year old I have a lot of respect for. Enough that from now on, I will be on the wise side of the line. At least when I'm with him. That's the way it is with the good folks I guess. Being around them makes us want to do better. Perhaps that's why kids come as kids first  - and not adults!  

Lately, Tad the 2 and a half year old boy I watch, has been fascinated by his father's shoes. His father is a tall man and has big shoes. Tad likes to pull his father’s well-worn boots out of his closet and climb carefully into them. Then he has to walk in them - a clunky kind shuffling. It's interesting to watch the transformation that takes place in his mind and method. He stands up, adjusts his weight, then the hands go on the hips, and a very suave Big Boy swagger kicks in. "I'm the Dad," he says proudly and with purpose. Then we go shuffling about the house and yard looking for Dad size jobs for him to do. He looks at everything with an eye toward it’s potential. He's mended fences, raked leaves and rocks, trimmed the bushes and carried his small pile of clipped leaves to the giant leaf pile out at the curb, “just like a dad,” he says. Today he talked to me about 'shaving whiskers' like his Dad.

BUT, here's the best part - his idea of "Big” and “Dad," extend to love, courtesy and thoughtfulness. He carried the pillow for me - 'like a Dad', he said. He brought me a blanket - 'like a Dad', he said. He ran and brought me my phone when a text message came in 'like a Dad', he says. Tad required a Bandaid today. He also required a "Bandaid Buddy" - that's me. I took care of him first, then he opened a Bandaid and placed it on my forehead. I thanked him and told him I felt much better. I told him he was very good at taking care of me putting on Bandaids, "Yes," he said, "like a Dad".

Later, as I was cleaning cat poo from around his sand box (deposits left by the free-roaming neighborhood menace), Tad pushed the small trash can he watched me making trips to, up close to me for easier access. I hadn’t asked him too. Heck I hadn’t even thought of it myself. I was surprised by his action. Not because he isn’t a sweet boy, he is. I was surprised that he, being only two and a half saw the situation and figured out all on his own that what he could do for me would be helpful. Being surprised as I was, I turned and looked at him. He was now crouched close beside me in his Daddy's big ol' boots, "Tad that was a very helpful, thoughtful thing to do - Thank You so much". He smiled and said, "just like a Dad." Melt my heart. Yes, Tad, just like a real Dad. You don't know this yet Sweet Little Man, but there aren't enough of those kinds of Dad's to go around these days.

This says a lot about what goes on in this little boys world. His parents, both of them are hard working, self-sacrificing, openly loving and devoted parents. They don't scrimp on discipline and guidance. They don't scrimp on teaching and new experiences. They don't scrimp on fun. And they don't scrimp on loving care for Tad or for one another. They don't lecture. They teach by example. Rare indeed. This little boy doesn't know how lucky and blessed he is, but I do.

I also know how blessed I am to have these three people in my life. Daily, I get a quiet dose of love and family that touches me and reaffirms my belief in the beauty and power of love, and it's far reaching affects.

The parents of this fine young lad, have a few pictures in their bedroom but one really stands out. It is one of the most beautiful, moving photographs I've ever seen. It's a wide panoramic shot, taken against a hill covered with tall golden grass and nothing else. Perfectly placed at one-third frame are Tad's parents - before they were parents, when they were just two people very much in love. They are knee deep in the grasses, pressed front to front. They are wrapped tightly and lovingly in each other’s arms, sides of their faces visible. They are kissing. Not a steamy scandalous kiss, but a kiss clearly expressing their deep love for, and devotion to one another. Beautiful, so beautiful. It is a powerful image. Tad has seen it every day of his life. He doesn't realize it now, but this image will become very important to him in the years to come as he grows into the world and the man he will become. Right now I'm sure he takes for granted that all people are this way. Too soon, he will learn they are not. This image of, and the knowledge of what these two special people mean to each other and how they care for each other will be embedded in his character.  I'm sure it will serve him well when it's time for him to formulate and understand his own ideas toward relationships. Tad will leave a mark in this world, as we all do. I hope his mark will be as powerful as his parents.

p.s. - As he and his parents live their lives, surviving changes and each others aging, I hope this image of his parents is how he will always chose to remember and see them - young, beautiful, in love, and devoted to one another.

Tad, the little two year old I babysit has been learning about "gender differences" lately, you know, what makes a boy a boy and what makes a girl a girl. His parents are keen on teaching him correct terminology - I'm good with that, did the same thing myself when my kids were small and learning. Today while I was changing his diaper he shared his newly gained knowledge with me. I pulled the diaper back, and very proudly he declared, "that's Tad's penis."

"Yep, it sure is," I agreed.

"Daddy has a penis."  Not going to argue that, Tad is living proof both his parents are properly "plumbed".

"I'm pretty sure he does," I agreed again. He shook his little blonde head slowly side to side, "Mommy doesn't have a penis."

"No?"

"No. . . . Mommy has a GIANT," he said very matter of factly. "A giant?"

"Yeah! Mommy has a giant. Mommy's a girl. Girls have giants."  Oh my gosh, I nearly bust a lung trying not to laugh. You just can't laugh at a little guy when he's so serious and proud of himself. But he wasn't done. He needed to be sure I knew what category I fit into. "Darcy doesn't have a penis. Darcy has a giant too!" OMG - God bless the little ones!