My Little Helper

 

“We believe that the ultimate treasures on earth and in heaven are our children and our posterity.”

-Elder Dallin H. Oaks

This was my absolute favorite hot chocolate mug. It was handmade by my father-in-law, a one-of-a-kind. He threw the pottery himself and created the glaze (It was one he was experimenting with and wasn’t sure he liked, but I loved it). We have several mugs made by Grant’s dad in our house, but this was the only green one. It was MINE. Whenever I caught Grant using it, I would glare at him.

My favorite mug met its demise this afternoon while Curtis was helping me unload the dishwasher. He loves to help unload the dishwasher. He’s a real go-getter. He loves to feel helpful. He jumps any time there is a chance for him to help his Mommy or Daddy. I normally try not to let him help me with the top rack because he can barely reach it (I say “try” because he insists anyway, and I just rush through it, giving him little chance to help). He tends to pull down on the rack, and I’m always afraid he’ll break the dishwasher. But today I didn’t care. The girls were upstairs, leaving us alone, and I was enjoying some time with my son.

He’s been helping me unload the dishwasher for over half a year (a long time in his little lifespan). We have a pretty good rhythm for working together. He puts away anything he can reach and hands me things that go in the cupboards above. I had just finished placing something in the cupboard when I turned around and saw him pulling out my mug. He didn’t have a firm grasp on it, and I shrieked, “Noooo!” as it tumbled out of his hand. I stood there for a moment with slumped shoulders, looking sadly at the pieces of the handle on the floor. But then I looked up and saw my little boy, frozen in the spot where he stood when he dropped it.

As I took the few steps to cross the kitchen to him, I searched for words that might comfort him. By the time I reached him, it was too late. He was crying before I could wrap my arms around him. As I held him gently, he sobbed and cried out, “So-yay dop cup! So-yay dop cup!” which, in his little words means, “sorry drop cup.” My heart was so full and so broken at the same time. It was full of love for this sweet boy who felt so sorry for dropping my cup when I hadn’t even scolded him, and it was breaking for how much it hurt him to have disappointed me. I told him it was okay. I told him he was worth so much more to me than that cup, even my favorite cup. And I wished so hard he could understand what I was trying to say to him.

He cried in my arms for a while more until I shifted and pushed the dishwasher door shut to give us some more room. That reminded him of our task, and he was eager to finish. We finished together, with him handing me things more carefully than ever and with plenty of smiles. And I marveled at my son. I felt so strongly at that moment the love that I have for him, and I knew what my real treasures are on this earth. I feel blessed to have moments like these (even when they cost me my favorite irreplaceable mug) because I am reminded of what is most important in my life. My children are my most precious possessions, and I pray always that I can handle them with the proper care they need.

And he still drops things sometimes . . .

but he’s worth so much more than anything he might drop.