It’s funny how there always seems to be one child running off the rails at any given time.
My friend Tara says it makes parenting like whack-a-mole. Not that I’m wielding a giant mallet and swinging it at my children.
Charlie is being a Georgia peach, currently. He wins the Oscar for Best Behaved Child on the Spectrum. I spent a lovely morning in his small-group kindergarten class Friday because he was the special spotlight. I got to tell seven of the doggone funniest little boys ever about Charlie’s affinity for bikes, swimming lessons, toy guns, and ice cream.
I told them all about Charlie. That he is a giver. That he lives to share. That he is a bright ray of sunshine in our family, who thrives on making people happy.
Last week Charlie earned a prize at school. He chose a mini basketball and brought it home excitedly. I worried that there would be fireworks between Charlie and Truman, who is the boy who never saw a basketball he didn’t abscond with.
Charlie pulled the ball from his backpack when he got home from school and asked, “Where’s Baby?” He immediately ran to Truman and gave him his new prize.
My little giver.
On Friday, Charlie shared Capri Suns with the class.
I watched my almost six-year-old, who nine months ago hid behind my legs or under tables when in a crowded room, happily lead his class in calisthenics during adaptive PE.
He’s a blessed little peach.
And I’m grateful, because I’ve got to focus like a laser on Jack, who is tossing vacuums over the back fence.