Learning to Fly

Being a parent can be so trying, at times, that you wonder what on Earth you were thinking when it seemed like a good idea to have a baby. The physical and mental exhaustion know no bounds, and the routines of daily life can sometimes feel like sheer drudgery.
And that's when they throw you a bone.
Today, my 5-year-old son nonchalantly announced that it was time for his flying lessons, and he matter-of-factly climbed up on the kitchen table bench. Standing like a poised man on a high-dive, he took a second to gather his thoughts, then ran down the length of the bench and leapt off, flapping his arms.
He landed on the ground, stood up, and climbed back up on the bench and did it all again. And then a third time.
The fourth try, he started from further back, but as he'd run out of bench, he found himself standing on the floor. He began running, hopped up on the bench, ran down the length of the bench and jumped off, flapping his arms.
And then he stopped, and sat down next to me.
"Well, I'm done with my flying lessons," he said.
I was still laughing.
"I'm done with my flying lessons, and I failed," he shared, with not one note of bitterness in his tone.
"You didn't fail!" I said, smiling very appreciatively at him.
"But I didn't fly," he shrugged.
"No, but you completed your lessons," I said, "and that's very important."
And just as importantly: he made my day, and reminded me of how life-affirming a view children hold, and why it's wonderful to be around that.
It'll definitely get me through the next diaper leak on my clean sheets.