The other night, we were driving out to eat at Lucky 13, passing TableRock along the way. Luke looked up and saw the lighted cross and asked, “Mommy, what is that?” I thought about it and said, “Well, Luke, a cross is a religious symbol that depicts the life of Jesus, as he died on the cross  many years ago.” I wasn’t sure if I’d answered the question satisfactorily but felt pretty good about my choice of words. Then Luke piped up and said, “Mommy, why does she live on a mountain?” I’m not sure why Luke thinks Jesus is a she, but I’d like to think it’s the profound role his mother plays in his life (of course, I also live in la la land). In between my chuckles, I anwered, “Well, Jesus lives everywhere honey.” (Yes, I guess this is my feeble attempt to remind my family that a Jesus really does exist in our lives.)

After dinner, we were waiting in line to enter the Botanical Gardens, so that Luke could visit Santa Claus for the first time. Ironically, the Botanical Gardens sits beneath TableRock. Out of the blue, Luke screams out (in a very loud voice that entertained everyone standing in line), “Look, there’s Jesus again!”

Doesn’t this story exemplify the innocence and knowledge exploration of children? In the hurry and haste of the holiday, it’s so easy to forget the real reason we’re celebrating Christmas. If we could only remember, “there’s Jesus again!” we might take a step back and appreciate our health, happiness and family more than we do.

Last night when I put Luke to bed, I suggested we say a special prayer for Obama. I told him tomorrow we’d be electing a new president of the United States. As if I were telling him something he didn’t already know, he responded, “Yes, I know. But you have to be 18.”

Today when I dropped him off, he showed me the ballot box they’d made at school.

At lunch, he brought home his ballot. He voted Obama.

So maybe children really do listen to what we say.

I have a habit (not sure if it’s a good or bad one) of not crying when I’m depressed or upset – at least not in front of friends and family. I save the tears for a closely confined, private space where no one can watch. But yesterday I had a really awful day. No particular reason why, just cumualative daily events, along with the riveting economic news in the US, along with not feeling physically all that good. It was one of those days where I wanted to cry all day but couldn’t really break out in a full-on tear storm in front of co-workers.

So there you have it, at the end of the work day, a sad mom, fixing dinner, tired and still bummed out. After Luke begged me for the third time to come read his book with him, despite the fact that three things were cooking on the stove, I decided to sit down with him anyway. And that’s when it happened. Tears came out of nowhere as Luke was pointing out the butterflies and beach balls and bees (and every other “b” word) on the pages of his picture book.

At first, Luke thought I was kidding, looking at me, laughing and saying, “Silly Mommy!” Then when I didnt’ stop crying, he looked at me very seriously and said, “Mommy, what’s wrong?” When I said, “It’s just been a bad day, sweetie” and kept crying, he responded: “Mom, you have to stop crying.” Then he proceeded to get up from the seat, saying “I’ll be right back.” He walks back to me a few moments later, puts a band-aid on my nose and says, “Now everything will be all better.  You can stop crying.”

Just one of those precious moments where I wish I could re-wind time and view the world through the eyes of a child.

There were four things I was adamant about before having a child.

Before Child:

1. “A child of mine will never eat French Fries.”

2. “A child of mine will never be allowed to watch the same movie over and over again.”

3. “I will never make separate meals for my child. He/she will eat what the rest of us eats.”

4. “A child of mine will never eat pasta every night.”

After Child

1. There have been some meals where I actually try to get my child to eat a French Fry. Not because I’ve had some crazy change of heart about the healthiness of fried food. But because my child won’t eat. And after a while, I have succombed to the fact that a French Fry is better than no food at all. Especially if your child is like mine and has complete melt-downs when he has no food in his system.

2. Not only have I allowed this, but I often encouraged him to watch movies if he’s in a bad mood or I have something that has to be done.  I don’t even care what movie it is or how many times he has seen it.

3. Well, I don’t want to force my child to eat spicey Thai or Mexican food. WIth all do respect, he has eaten fish a fair number of times. But my problem here is that if he doesn’t eat dinner by 6:00, he will have one of those melt-downs I just mentioned. And as hard as I try, I have a tough time getting the family meal ready by 6:00. So it’s either eat so many snacks that he won’t even eat dinner when the rest of us finally sit down, or its fix him something to eat while I’m still cooking dinner. Usually the latter scenario wins out.

4. See French Fry scenario above. At least pasta is a little more healthy. And he doesn’t eat it every night. I swear.

P.S. And I’m pretty darn good about desserts, for what it’s worth.

“Yes sir. No Sir. Yes mam. No Mam.”

Most people would recognize these as salutations you may or may not hear, depending on where you live in this country. Ironically, these words represented the first argument I had with my husband about parenting. Before we had a child, of course. 

If you were raised in the South, you wouldn’t dream of having a child that didn’t utter these words each time he or she spoke to his/her elder.  That’s how I was raised and this was emphatically the way things were (and are) done. Or at least that was my argument – I wanted to have a child who was polite and showed respect for his elders. My husband’s argument was that sir and mam sounded like a drill sergeant and masked a child’s true respect and courtesy for others. I argued senselessly but never actually won (or lost) the argument.

These sentiments were shared by a mom who swore (prior to having a child, of course) that “no child of hers would ever eat a French fry.” Fast forward three years later and you’ll hear, “Here, honey, please eat a French fry” when her child refuses to eat and will likely have a complete emotional meltdown at any moment because his blood sugar has dropped far below the level needed for his otherwise fun-loving personality.

But back to the Sir/Mam politeness/manners thing. I went to a “White Gloves and Party Manners” class when I was in the third grade, when my mom could scarcely afford to buy meat for dinner, because it was paramount I learn the proper way to eat at the dinner table, among other things (or clean my hair so I could hold Squeaky the mouse during class, I kid you not). I really do want my child to display common etiquette, even if my husband thinks Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Etiquette is senseless (and even if our son isn’t off to the best start when it comes to chewing with his mouth closed).

 But I must say I’ve come around a bit on the Sir/Mam thing. I haven’t lived in the South for 15 years now, and therefore have not heard those words in 15 years. These are simply unspoken in regions of the country outside of the humidity zone. When I spoke to my niece and nephew recently on the phone and every other word was mam this and mam that, I felt like I was hearing a foreign language. And though I appreciate their good manners, I don’t think these words necessarily “grant” someone the crown of genuine respect and humility. If a child says “yes” to me, and is otherwise sweet and enjoyable to be around, I am more than contented.

Just like beauty is skin deep (and French fries are deep fried), politeness, class and respect extend far beyond a few silly words. If given the choice, I’d much rather my son genuinely respect and care for others.