Once every couple of weeks, I take the kids (or just one or 2 of them depending on the situation) for a quick breakfast at our local donut and coffee joint. It’s never an overly joyous occasion–kids scrambling to place their orders, find the perfect seat and to get on my last nerve. They like it though, and even if they forget to thank me, I know they appreciate the change in their normal routine.
I do enjoy taking them though, because of the delightful man who works behind the counter. A few months ago, when I was there with just Hannah, he struck up a conversation about kids and whatnot and told me that his youngest was 7, and his oldest was “older than me”. I asked him how old, and he replied “28!”. Yes, I like this man.
Today, he marveled at how well I handled all 3 kids. “You are a saint!”, he told me “You deserve a medal! Do you ever get any sleep? you really do a great job with them” and so on and so forth.
I guess, in a world where more often than not I am told “Wow, you really have your hands full!”, the little things, talking to someone who has respect for having a family of small children, rather than horror and sympathy, is very refreshing.
I know that I do ok with them, you know? But to hear it from someone else, a stranger even…it means a lot to me.