Thursday, July 14, 2016

Our Kids Don't Have To Win Awards To Be Remarkable

I got a decent and much needed chuckle today. I was talking to a friend of mine who has a really cool human kid. My friend went on and told me that she had persuaded him to go to a week long summer camp that focused on sports. The whole idea was to introduce kids to various sports so they could determine what they were interested in. Two days into camp, her son told her he was having a miserable time and the highlight of camp was the food.

"I've come to the conclusion that he doesn't like sports. He never has. He never will. He misses the soccer ball completely when it's his turn to kick and he can't throw a football to save his life. You know what, I'm okay with that. Is it okay to be okay with that?"

I reassured her that it was. Her son is goofy, silly, smart, creative, and he's a genius when it comes to taking things apart to figure out how they work. Let him be. He's happy doing what he does and has no problem entertaining himself. Eventually, he'll find his niche.

"You're right. I simply adore him and all of his uniqueness."

Later in the day, I thought about our kids. I know they're not human kids and I'm not a Mom to human kids, however, it didn't stop me from thinking about similar pressures.

To understand this, I'll set the stage for you. Last summer, while out and about, we stumbled on a pet event that was going on. There were a few familiar faces participating in this event. One of the ladies introduced us to her fur-kids. Immediately following the introduction, she proceeded to give us a complete rundown of everything she's trained her fur-kids to do. Accompanying this was a demonstration.

Her fur-kids could ring the snack bell, play dead, roll over, twirl around, jump through a hoop and a few other things. Lisa and I stood there. Watching. Holding our breath. We both knew what was coming.

"Have you taught any of your babies how to do things like this?"

I sucked in the air between my teeth. I pursed my lips. I bit my tongue. I shook my head.

"Nope. No we haven't."

The woman just gave us "the look."

I wasn't bothered by the fact that our kids don't flush the toilet, play dead. whip up a batch of scrambled eggs or fetch our mail. What bothered me was this bothered her. I'm almost willing to bet she frowned down on our kids

Our kids don't possess any exceptional talent. They don't ring the snack bell when they want a snack. In our household, meals and snacks are served at the same time every single day. If by some chance I get distracted and I'm late giving snacks, they let me know. They'll all stampede into the office, sit by my feet and stare at me.

We've tried to teach our kids the basics. Sit. Roll over. Paw. Sometimes they comply. Sometimes they don't. To us, it's not a big deal.

Coco still frightens himself when he farts. If one of us throws a ball, he'll run to the ball, stop, and he'll look at us as if to say, "What now?" He never brings the ball back.

Sophie is an old girl. She's not interested in playing fetch or jumping through hoops. However, if Lisa or I have food, her stubby legs and clumsy feet can run from the bedroom to the home office in less than a second.

Lobo. He's just Lobo. If Stinky isn't with him, he's lost and can't focus. Aside from that, he's learned to eat from a fork and, if on the table, he won't help himself to food unless Lisa or I tell him it's okay.

You know what? We're okay with all of the above.

Our kids are great.

Their greatness is enough.

Their existence is enough.

They don't need to win awards or impress a large crowd of people.

To us, they're incredible and remarkable as is.

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