Last Saturday, my 10 year old daughter and I woke at 4:00am to volunteer at breakfast for the Special Olympics. My daughter worked, literally, like it was her job. Running from table to table, wiping them down, pushing in chairs, throwing away trash.
She worked so intensely that she was sweating, and at one point a man pulled me over to his table where a group of people told me they “had never seen a kid work as hard as the girl in the blue shirt”. When my kid walked over, they gave her a round of applause. I got to puff up my chest and tell them she was mine.
My seven year old son’s defective heart has been acting up lately. He’s been complaining of a “funny feeling…like a butterfly” and yesterday his cardiologist hooked him up to a monitor. He has five large leads stuck to his chest and he wore the monitor over his shoulder all day as he ran and played yesterday. He has been a perfect patient. I’m proud to be his mom.
My husband has been working like a maniac. Long, long hours at the office, then hours more from home in the late evening. He often doesn’t eat dinner until 10:00pm, and stays up until the wee hours on his laptop. Then he gets up at 6:00am to walk both dogs, rain or shine, sleet or snow and on the weekends he spends lots of time with his kids. Everything he does, he does for his family. He is a good man.
As for being proud of myself? Well, at least I have that whole being able to hang a spoon on the end of my nose thing.