Nachas.
It’s a Hebrew/Yiddish term I grew up hearing. My parents used it when I brought home a great report card or when I helped serve dinner on a Friday night and made a good impression on their guests.
I was brought up knowing that children are nachas; that they are the most precious gift, and that it is an honor, privilege, and blessing to have them.
Fast forward to me being a mother.
Some days, it’s hard to feel that truth.
When the two-year-old found the flour I forgot to put away while making muffins…
When my three-year-old discovers how to unlock the childproof door on the laundry room…
Or when the four-year-old keeps chatting away when it’s already forty minutes past bedtime…
And yet, children are nachas.
Last week, I got a beautiful reminder, and it was a wonderful nachas surprise.
After dinner, I noticed my three‑year‑old needed some fresh air. We slipped on our jackets and stepped outside, hand in hand.
We turned the corner and, step by step, breath by breath, took a walk together.
As I walked with my son and the wind brushed gently past us, I felt it.
Warmth.
Pleasure.
Goodness.
Positivity.
Nachas.
A wonderful moment. A beautiful memory.
These flashes of moments are what give us the push to keep going when parenting gets tough.
Nachas.
What a joy when I get to feel it.
