The other day my three-year old woke up extra early. It wasn’t quite six o’clock on a Sunday morning when I heard the bedroom door slowly creaking open. It was one of those slow motion moments. But Sunday is the day we get to sleep until seven thirty, or even a bit past eight if the wind blows that way. Was this a lucid dream or reality? I couldn’t tell at first.

Then, through a still-thick haze of sleep-mist my aching eyes made out a miniature hand gripping a brown monkey “lovie” – the comfort blanket that little man carries around wherever he goes. In fact, it was he. The smile on his face was as big as I’d ever seen it, and that’s saying something…this kid can light up a room with his charming beam.

Immediately I realized that having a smiling three-year old quietly sneak into my bedroom just before six to gently stir me from slumber was better than hearing him shout, “Daddy!” repeatedly at four o’clock in the morning, or having to answer the call of the wet bed at some other unnatural middle-of-the-night hour. I counted myself lucky and prepared for a guest by shifting blankets and pillows so that he could slide in and join me for a few more snores. It wasn’t happening. “I’m hungry.” He whispered. And if you can believe it, the smile grew even bigger.

As if it would make a difference I questioned the kid. “You’re hungry?” I asked. “I want scrambled eggs.” He replied.   Look at that, I made it worse. He couldn’t have been craving some yogurt or applesauce. How about a lovely scoop of cottage cheese or a pear? Something quick and easy that Daddy could retrieve and deliver before returning to dreamland for a minute or two while he ate. Not today. Today I would have to forget about the notion of complete sleep. This parade was over. It was time to get the party started.

My mind lifted my getting-older-by-the-minute body out of my really comfortable bed (against its better judgment) and off we went. I must admit that walking down the stairs with his tiny hand in mine made it very much worthwhile. I do understand that one day he’ll grow up and this won’t happen anymore. Even with limited sleep I count myself among the truly blessed!

Upon reaching the kitchen counter, plopping him down at his favorite spot, and collecting the necessary hardware, I turned to see him watching me intently. I said, “Scrambled eggs, huh?” He looked at me with all seriousness and answered, “Yeah…and you have to have eggs to do it.”

If it had been an adult telling me that I needed eggs to make scrambled eggs I might have said something sarcastic like, “Thank you, Mr. Wizard,” or “Wow, you must have aced scrambled eggs school.” But it wasn’t. It was a three-year-old. Besides, I was looking at his face when he said it. Let me tell you, he was thrilled to be delivering that information. A shutter of excitement ran through his body as he did. He knew how to make scrambled eggs and he was super-excited to have the opportunity to share that knowledge…and to help!

We spent the next fifteen or twenty minutes going back and forth as he guided me through the process. I retrieved the cheese when he told me, I cracked the eggs per his instructions, and I poured and stirred via his detailed coaching. It was wonderful fun, so much so that we almost forgot we were tired. Almost.

During the process I thought about how confident and self-assured he was. I saw him enthusiastically outlining a relatively complex culinary procedure with the poise of a master chef (complex for a three-year-old). The kid knew what he was talking about and he delighted in the feeling of doing so. It’s a feeling I want him to know like the back of his hand. I intend for him to.

This was an opportunity to help my son experience the power of knowledge, the ownership ideas, and the distribution of meaningful content and connected thoughts. It was a situation in which he recognized a need, conceived of a plan, initiated actions tied to that plan, and then managed an associated start-to-finish sequence through effective communication and respectful assertiveness. All I could think as we sat there eating the spoils of our labor was, “Great job, Bud!” All I can think right now is that I sure hope future opportunities to foster this kind of learning and growth in my children aren’t lost on much less meaningful minutes of sleep.

I suspect that there will come a time in my life when no one will wake me up inexplicably early for scrambled eggs, but only if I’m successful at doing my part in helping my kids become the kinds of people who can make scrambled eggs for themselves. This experience reminded me how important it is to take every opportunity to nurture the ownership of ideas in children and to celebrate any progress toward independence as it comes along.

Live. Learn. Lead.

 

Dream Big. Work Hard. Be Well.