I lost this week. I hate losing. And I had a long drive home to stew about it.
Upon my untriumphant return home I was greeted with the following:
Peanut (7): Did you do your best to convince the judge? Were you nice? Did you practice? If you did those things you should feel good, mommy.
Sassy (6): You need dessert. I’ll have some with you if it will make you feel better.
Mo (3): (holding my face in his advent-calendar-chocolate-covered hands) I like winning, mama. You’re gonna win the next day.
My job is the kind where winning and losing take place daily. Winning is important. Clients want to win. I want to win. I take it personally when I don’t. But contrast that with the conversations I have with the little people. I’m constantly telling them that winning is not what matters–that it’s the effort, the hard work, the way you play and how you pick yourself up, that matters.
So there I was, kneeling on the floor just inside my front door, car keys still in hand. Three little ones in their pajamas, so happy that I made it home before bedtime, surrounding me. Hearing the messages I’ve sent returned to me. And turning my disappointment around.
Some moments make crystal clear that these little people are the best thing I ever did.