Footprints in the Flour

This morning I observed bananas quite ripe.  A little too ripe.  But not too ripe for banana bread.

So I ground some wheat and set it on the counter.  

A little boy observed my actions, and the result was a chair, scooted up to the counter; a boost for a little helper.

A mother's first response is a sigh, and thoughts of how much faster something can be accomplished without "help".

Well, my help was allowed.  We mixed apple sauce, turbinado sugar, flour, baking soda, eggs and such to make a very fragrant batter.

A finger dipped into the apple sauce.  A tongue licked a measuring cup.  And fingers traced pictures in flour on the counter.

My little man insisted on scooping flour into a cup.  Which is quite the feat for one who has not even reached the age of 2.

And I thought "Oh dear!  What a mess he will make!"  But then I thought "What a dear!  How else will he learn?"

And so a Mother's response is altered.  

William Wirt said "Education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire!"

As mothers, our biggest responsibility is to teach.  We train our children in hygiene, manners, religion, and just about all of the truly important things.

I want to teach my children to want to learn.  To want to know.

Someday, I hope when my son remembers me, he remembers me as a mother who did not discourage great things, fun things or even creative things.  I will always discourage unwholesome and destructive things.  But I want to encourage him to try things, and not hold himself back.

And so I allowed my son to spill flour on the floor, and leave little white footprints, and be messy.  And I smiled and tousled his hair, and told him how great he was at helping me bake.

Because he's worth it.

See, I'm not raising my son to be a child, I'm raising my son to be a man.