lessons from a kindergartner.

Caleb had a hard day at school. Nothing earth shattering, just the typical Kindergarten “stuff” that gets lodged in between art projects and recesses and silent readings.

Daily performance evaluations.

You know, purple means excellent, pink means good, green means okay and any other color pretty much means a future most likely filled with detentions and possibly juvie.

We’ve been lucky, even proud, that Caleb has come home with only purple and pinks thus far. But yesterday, I knew something was up when I picked him up from school and heard, “Mom, I had kinda a hard day” from the backseat on our drive home.

Some simple questioning led me to check his school folder where I saw he got a “green” for the day. More questions led to the revelation that he had gotten in trouble in music class for playing tag with a friend and was sentenced to “walk cones” for five minutes the next day.

He explained this whole thing to me and I could feel his pain with every word that came out of his mouth. Once he got it all out, he began sobbing.

I watched from the rear-view mirror with a crumbling heart as he buried his cheek into the side of his booster seat, covered his eyes and started silently crying. It was THAT look - the look of SHAME and I wanted to nip that in the bud – fast. I knew I had to whip out my words - the good stuff- the pearls of wisdom that would tell him that it was just a little mistake and that I still loved him, was proud of him, and everyone makes the wrong choice sometimes.

Yet all I could muster was, “Caleb, don’t you feel bad! Even mommy got in trouble at school sometimes! And at least you’ll have your friend there to walk the cones with you – it won’t be so bad!” And the ever-helpful little Kenzie chimed in, “Yeah, Caleb! I get in trouble, too! My teacher just forgives me!”

He just looked at us like “Really? That’s all you got?”

I reached back behind my seat and grasped his clammy palm while he continued to cry for the duration of the ride home. I think I had one of those out-of-body mommy moments when a million speeches, ideas, consequences, ramifications and frustrations all flooded my brain at once. My sweet, tender-hearted Caleb. Who had broken the rules and had to walk cones. How do I teach him that it wasn’t THAT big of a deal without minimizing disobedience? How do I teach him that his value is set in stone – that nothing he has done or could do could ever change how loved he is? How do I teach him that we sometimes have to pay the piper when we mess up, but that messing up is also just a part of life? How do I stop myself from calling his teacher and BEGGING her to let me walk the cones in his place??

We got home, and he retreated into the quiet living room and the comfy white couch – alone – while Kenzie and I went into the kitchen to start dinner. I checked on him a minute later and asked what exactly was bothering him.

“I don’t want to walk cones.”

So I took a deep breath, pulled him in close and let him sob into my shoulder for a minute. Then I told him that his teachers have rules and  this was just a reminder that he needs to listen. I told him to try and think of these situations as opportunities to do better next time rather than a punishment.

Wait, did I say that?

I said, "you may have made a mistake but – did you know?? – you can make a hundred million mistakes and I will never think less of you. I will always, always, love you and be proud of you."

Yes, I’ve heard this before.

I told him that I LOVED  that he told me the truth – even though he felt so bad about it and it was hard – he trusted me enough to tell me and that made me feel so good and so proud.

Yep, the truth does set you free. I know that’s a thing.

And I concluded with the fact that we all make mistakes – it’s what makes us human.  But we are not our mistakes – and I KNOW. WHO. HE. IS. He is a sweet, kindhearted, amazing person. And he's precious to me. He isn’t his mistakes.

Wait, this is still about Caleb right???

I should know by now that motherhood will always be like looking at a mirror. Most of the things I tell my kids, I should be telling myself. And so many of the limitless hopes, boundless desires and endless affections I have for my kids must mirror the exponentially greater feelings my Father has towards ME and THEM. That is comfort and calm. The truth about who God is and who He says WE are is truly unbelievable. So much so, that I sometimes forget to believe it myself.

(And then there’s Kenzie. Who is perfectly comfortable getting in trouble, knows her worth a little too well, and is applying for a forgiveness punch card as we speak. But that is a blog for another time.)

Caleb walked away from our little talk, dried his tears and got back to the business of being a carefree six year old. He ate his chicken nuggets, finished his homework, read a book and played a game of Madden on the Xbox. I so often focus on the volatility of children – how quickly they can change moods, throw tantrums or change proclivities. But what about the RESILIENCY and FAITH of children? How easy it is for them to believe their parents when they say “it’s going to be okay.” How effortlessly their tears can turn into uncontrollable laughter. How soundly they can sleep knowing that they don’t have to control their worlds because THEY ARE TAKEN CARE OF.

So I guess the old adage is true. All we ever need to know, we learn in Kindergarten. Or from our Kindergartners. Thanks, Caleb B.