A few weeks ago, I was in the car on my first venture out alone with all three of you. It was a success. You and Ben didn't fight, Claire didn't fuss at all, and you all obeyed so well. It was wonderful.
My favorite part of the trip, however, was a conversation that we had in the car. It went something like this:
"Mom, you know how I'm a superhero?"
"Of course," I responded.
"Well, I haven't had my first save yet."
"What do you mean?"
You went on to tell me that you hadn't saved anyone yet and that you weren't really sure you could call yourself a superhero until you did. You explained that you aren't really old enough to fly (which apparently you think is something that comes with age) or save people from fires.
So I explained that there are other ways that you can be a superhero. I told you that helping friends, loving enemies, comforting those who are hurting and putting other people before yourself are things that real superheroes do.
This explanation was met with silence. The conversation was over.
Fast forward to last week when our family went to Bob Evans for dinner. Ben ordered fruit dippers and you ordered french toast. Ben had eaten most of his fruit, and looked over to see that you still had french toast left on your plate. He kept looking back and forth at his plate and yours and finally said, "Me want french toast!" A meltdown was imminent.
I explained to him that you had chosen french toast and that he had chosen fruit dippers and he needed to eat what he had left. But you jumped in and said, "That's okay. Ben, would you like a piece of my french toast?"
Ben was overjoyed. Dad and I were relieved.
You looked at me and said, "That was my first save, Mom."
Yes, Jack. Yes it was. Your first of many, I hope.
I'm so proud of you.