Proud Parenting Moments, No. 4,376
I couldn’t not tell you all this story. Consider it my public confession—my “mea culpa” on behalf of this kid.
Yesterday, my husband and I attended an area meeting for the People of Praise. We brought our three youngest with us: Angela, 12, who was helping out in the childcare; George, 7, who had an “Arrows” meeting in the gym, and Francis, 3, who was supposed to go with his sister to the childcare.
He refused, however, and yanked off his shoes to join his brother in the gym.
“Is that okay?” I asked the two guys in charge, and having hearts of gold, the two guys said yes.
Later, I felt the need to check on my little
terrorist cherub, and snuck out of the meeting to take a peek. He was playing one-on-one with one of the guys because he couldn’t quite get the game “Capture the Flag.” (Go figure.) “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked the guy, who was named Phillip.
“No problem,” he grinned. “I’m happy to do it.”
At that point I noticed the glint of green sticking out of Francis’ waistband. “Wait, what’s he got? Francis? What is that?”
Francis grinned wickedly but didn’t respond. I ran a list through my head of all the things it could be, then realized…with horror…what it was. “Francis, is that a pumpkin carving tool?!”
He took off like lightning, shrieked wildly and with delight.
“You want me to grab him?” Phillip asked.
Yes, I did.
He cut him off at the pass and scooped him up playfully. Setting him down at my feet, Phillip stood back deferentially. Here it was: the moment of truth. That moment we’ve all come to fear as a parent.
I lifted up his jersey and sure enough, THIS was stuck in the waistband of his khakis:
Proud Parenting Moment, right then. Right there.
(Just you wait, though! It’s about to get better. )
I yanked it out and shook my head at him menacingly. The guy just laughed and called out, as I left, “Did you hear what he said?”
Did I want to know? Not really…
“He said, ‘Great! Now I don’t have a knife.'”