Justice isn't a warrior. It’s not a King riding in on a white horse fighting the bad guys and saving the day.
My kids love knights and dragons. I’m not sure how that happened or when it exactly occurred, but they are totally into it. For Halloween, my five-year-old insisted on being a knight, and my two-year-old just had to don a dragon costume. (A little bit fitting for their personalities, actually.) Even at their young ages, they have a sense of justice. Of fighting the bad guy and saving the day. And that’s kind of how I’ve always viewed justice.
I woke up to a toddler in fuzzy footie PJs lying on top of me, and rolled over to meet my other son's little brown toes aiming for my face. Throughout the night, we managed to attract a two-year-old, a four-year-old, and an over-weight dog under the covers of our queen bed.
This morning, as I collected morning kisses and caught a view of my bedhead, I felt like royalty.
When we were in the process of adopting Joseph, we finally got word that his in-country court date was set for July. I stared at the calendar and time eked by. I rearranged books in the nursery and resorted tot-sized toys.
I made up my mind. My mama heart couldn't wait any longer. I hammered out some emails and prayed for positive responses. Because I was booking myself a one-way ticket for June -- a month before our scheduled time.
If patience is a virtue, I'm cut from an un-virtuous cloth.
When we're running late and the clock is ticking to get out of the house, a certain five-year-old suddenly feels it necessary to move in slow motion. As I'm throwing wipes in the diaper bag and corralling children, he's taking it easy, kicking his feet up, and then remembering now would certainly be the best time to send out a (snail-pace) search party for that missing Lego.
"Mommy, I NEED chocolate milk! Right now!"
I placed the baby in her swing and made my way to the kitchen.
"Can you ask nicely, buddy?"
"Chocolate milk, pleeeeeease?"
He asked as he ran to the fridge, swinging open the doors and standing on his tip-toes to reach the chocolate syrup bottle.
"I get it, Mommy!" My two-year-old declared as I reached inside, grabbing the milk.