Kids these days are awful.

Entitled.

Not even taught manners.

If the world has to depend on the next generation of kids, we're all goners.

Ruined.

Doomed for sure.

.

.

.

Or...

This morning, the Nearly Perfect Husband and I were sipping our coffee in the kitchen. He'd just outlined his day for me, and it was my turn.

I was kind of excited to be heading to a couple of local garden centers to pick out some herbs and clematis because - and this is a whole other post on its own - The Inn* is going to be on the local house and garden tour this summer and I am feeling some totally self-imposed pressure to have it and it's gardens all tuxed-up and dandy for the event.

So JoHn and I are sipping coffee and I'm telling him of my intent to hit the garden centers early so I can get back and write (because I have an outline to do for a book idea and this is very exciting).

I am in the middle of saying the word 'clematis' - which is multisyllabic and can take a few secs - when I heard something and stopped mid word. JoHn actually began talking at that time and I was all, "Shhhhh!" and he did not (which is not unusual) and so I said, "Wait. Stop talking now!" and he heard my tone and stopped right away.

I had to get up and head to the open window to hear it better, but there it was.

Someone was crying, and that someone was little.

I went to the screen door and, sure enough, there was a small human walking up the road, and she was not just crying, she was doing that wail-cry-sob-repeat thing that mini-people do when they hurt themselves.

Mom mode kicked in.

I stepped out onto the front porch and, moving slowly so as not to ignite 'stranger danger', I called to her and asked her if she was okay. And through the wails and cries and sobs she managed to snivel - in that way where the reality of the situation, and decibel level, hit her with each additional word...

"I fell off my SCOOTER!"

And then she was unintelligible.

I got to her and shrunk myself to her height.

"Can you show me?"

And she did.

She turned around and pulled up her little shorts and there was quite the bloody scrape.

And she turned back to me and I said, "Whoa. That happened to me once too, and it felt kind of burn-y. Does it feel like that?"

And she nodded and sniffed a lot.

And I said, "Well, here's the thing. I've seen a lot of those, and I can tell you that it's going to be okay."

And she whirled back around and pointed at her bloody shorts and little bum and said, loudly, "But LOOK!"

And I said that, yes, I knew it was big and looked scary but I was certain it would be okay. And then I asked her name and she kind of stuttered out, "Jane."

And I asked if she was staying in the yellow house down the street and she said she was and I said I knew her grandmother and grandfather.

Jane said that she bet that I did not know her parents who were named Judy and Dave and I said that we could go see them right then and I offered my hand and she took it and I thought she was being very brave because she was.

When we got to her grandparents' house, Jane said we needed to go around back and as her Mom was coming to open the door Jane began to cry hard all over again, which was totally fair because Moms are obligated to love us even if we are not being quite as brave as we were even seconds before.

I told Jane's Mom who I was and then took my barefoot and pajama-clad self back down the driveway.

It occurred to me that little Jane's scooter was probably just down the street, which it was, so I went and picked it up and took it back and leaned it against the rock wall in front of the yellow house and headed back to the rest of my day.

About an hour later, I was backing out of the garage and noticed a white SUV on the road, and Jane was running toward it... from my front door.

I rolled down my window as she saw me driving down my driveway.

"Hey you! How are you feeling?"

Her mom smiled and waved from her car.

"Much better!" yelled Jane as she, too, smiled and waved.

And then...

"I left you a flower!" and she pointed at the door.

"Oh wow!" I yelled, "I'll get it as soon as I get home! Thank you so much!"

"Okay!" Jane called, and she got into her car with her mom who also said thank you and I smiled all the way through my flower picker-outing and also a hotdog from Gary at Dunton's Doghouse (a family fave).

And when I got home?

Well, I went right to my front porch and do you know what?!

Jane did not just give me one flower at all. She gave me many flowers...

In a special glass jar...

With a note.

Oh I know.

Kids these days.

They are sweet.

And grateful.

And their parents have fun teaching them manners.

And I think if we have to depend on folks like Jane to take over our world...

We're gonna be just fine.

Thanks for readin'.

*The Inn isn't really an inn today, though it once was (in the early 1900s).

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