My first born son is an absolute joy. He is so smart, so clever, so funny and just a delight. He is covered with freckles, like a million angel kisses. He is my sunshine. I would sing that song to him almost every night. Now I sing it to his brother, but I catch him standing in the doorway listening. He also has his very own song I made up just for him when he was but 1 month old.
He is brave. He tried out for the basketball team again this year. For a small, private school, the tryouts are incredibly competitive. For a second year in a row, he did not make the team. He worked hard for this. He has the sweetest 3 pt shot. But then, I am his momma and think his burps are sweet. He will survive this.Â I wanted to make it all perfect. Part of raising a strong son is preparing him for the constant grind of the masculine world. The pack mentality is foreign to me, so I do not help him by sheltering him too much. But, is he ready to run in that pack at eleven? He is growing up so fast. But I also want him to be a strong man. An honorable man. A humble man. A loving and forgiving man. Do I serve him by letting him know I am willing to fiercely protect him?
Love expresses itself in many ways. As a mother, I will praise him. I will lift him up. I will be honest and try to lay the foundation of a relationship that will grow. I am so proud of him in every way possible.