This morning my husband started sorting laundry and our ornery three year old immediately started wallowing around in the filthy, stinky piles of used clothes — how’s that for a visual. After asking our son to stop, explaining to our son how ”yucky” it was and scolding our son for not doing what he was told, my husband quickly changed gears. (He’s a really good Dad, by the way.)
My husband suddenly stopped struggling with the situation, and flipped it into a fun task for our little guy by asking him to help sort all the clothes by color. From the other room, I heard them picking up pants, socks and shirts, declaring a color and placing them in appropriate piles. (I swear I do more smiling with just my ears often times.)
After the basket was empty, my little man ran into the kitchen and begged me to come see what he had done. He ran ahead of me and by the time I arrived, he was standing smack dab in the middle of all the piles, hands on hips with the biggest self-approving smile I’ve ever seen. I appropriately fawned all over his completed chore and told him I was proud; but better yet, I knew he was proud of his own accomplishment and that was a very good thing to see.