Moments to make a mother proud

I've got good kids.

No, really. I mean, they are really GOOD kids.

Sure, they squabble, they don't always cooperate or do as they're asked. But in spite of those unpleasant episodes, deep down they are really good kids. My older two are unfailingly helpful and often polite without being asked or reminded. My younger two are usually dependable when it comes to hauling groceries, helping their dad dig up the yard for planting, or vacuuming the floors (they love to operate the vacuum cleaner).

But sometimes, my kids really go above and beyond the call of duty and they leave me and my expectations for their ages and stages in the dust.

This week, it was my oldest son's turn to shine.

Our family was hit full force by some sort of nasty illness. As we worked to recover, some of us got better quicker than others. My 6-year-old was the first to rally.

As I lay on the couch trying to summon the energy to do anything -- after being up all night before with my youngest child and my dear dependent husband -- I watched my son happily playing nearby.

"Hey," I said. "I'm sure glad you're feeling better. Do you think you could help me out?"

He came over to me, put his little hand on my cheek and said, "Sure, Mom. What do you need?"

I asked him if he thought he could make me a peanut butter sandwich and peel me a clementine. My appetite was finally returning, but my body was just too tired to act on it.

"I can do that!" he exclaimed. "Stay there and I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, my little boy emerged from the kitchen with the sandwich and fruit in hand. "I put everything on a paper towel so you wouldn't have to wash a plate," he said. "I think I did a good job with the sandwich."

If I'd had any money on me, I'd have given him a tip.

Later, I heard him going up the stairs to ask his sisters, who were both still droopy in bed, if they needed anything. No one asked him to do this. Next, I heard him come back down, go into the kitchen, and then run water in the sink.

When I asked him what he was doing, he said his dad wanted some more iced tea. He was rinsing out Dad's glass before putting in the ice and tea. "His glass looked dirty so I am cleaning it out first," he said matter-of-factly.

Whose kid is this? Where did this little man, this little responsible, capable, self-directed, compassionate little man come from? How did I get so lucky?

This is the same child who my longtime 'blog readers may remember acted so rotten that he got his 5th birthday party cancelled. The same child who carved his name irreverently in my expensively painted and refurbished staircase. The same child whose peeing contest with a friend resulted in the replacement of a $200 mattress. The same child who, every time he was fussed at between the years of four and five told me he wished he could have a different mother. The same child who is single-handedly responsible for 80% of my gray hair.

He told me things would get better when he turned six. That was last November and amazingly enough, his prophesy has been spot on.

Amidst the temporary misery of illness and the subsequent swift recovery of us all, I remain struck by the vision of my son lovingly caring for his mother, his dad, and his siblings. If this is a hint of things to come, then all the grief, gray hair, and damaged furniture has been worth it.