Today I feel like I got run over by a truck. I had a tough 90 minute workout yesterday and then spent the rest of the afternoon pulling weeds (aka, digging our side yard out of the jungle). I have no idea which soreness is related to which activity, but I suppose it hardly matters. I'm sore.
I mentioned being sore earlier today, but assured my 6-year old, David, that I would be fine. He's very sensitive and prone to worry; he tends to get concerned if I mention I'm not feeling well for some reason.
As we were eating lunch, the boys sitting in their usual spots at our kitchen island, and Miss I-can't-be-trusted-with-food-if-I'm-not-strapped-in sitting in her high chair, I stood, as I often do, in the kitchen to eat. My sweet little gentleman looked up at me and said,
"Mom, I can stand up and eat if you want. You can have my chair, since you're sore today."
I thanked him profusely for being so kind as to offer, but elected to let him continue eating his lunch in his seat. But, even a couple hours later, I'm still smiling from the effects of his generous offer.
I am not a perfect mother and I don't have perfect children. But once in a while, I get a glimpse of kindness in them, and I feel like I must be doing something right.