I once read a story told by Marjorie Hinckley, about a mother and her young son. The son told the mother to come down to the basement and play darts (or something like that) with him. He led her by the hand to a nearby couch. When she asked him how to play, he said that he would throw the darts and she would say, "Wonderful! Wonderful!"
We are having a wonderful morning. Mark was gone last evening, so to shake things up a bit and avoid the whining for screen time, I hauled the boys' basketball hoop downstairs to the end of our long stretch of hard floor. The boys had a blast. Cooper was at it again this morning, and I sat and watched while I fed the baby (because Luke thinks bouncing balls are hilarious and eats well when distracted).
It blows me away every time to think that a child that I gave birth to can actually dribble. And run. And shoot. At the same time??! And he's five. Maybe spending the first 19 years of my life in a hometown where basketball makes the world go round seeped into my blood, despite my protests. So I was laying on thick the "wonderful, wonderful".
The confidence of a five year old is a wonderful thing to behold. He started small. "Mom, I'm going to be just like Jimmer." When I smiled and agreed, he ratched it up a notch. "No, I'm going to be just like River Jordan." I smiled much bigger and agreed. "River Jordan can slam dunk it 50 times every game, right mom?" He then demonstrated some more.
I have nothing to give here but "wonderful, wonderful", so I pointed out to Cooper that he was going to be very tall, like Uncle Jake, and that Uncle Duke is a basketball coach, maybe he should talk to them sometime and they could teach him a few things.
"Nah. I already know everything."
I then fell back on the only advice that a mother like me could venture.
"Maybe you could dribble easier if you had pants on, huh?"
He went for that.