Recycling night doesn't get any more exciting than this

Recycling night in our neighborhood never used to be a highlight of my week. But then, a couple of months ago, Max decided that he wanted to help Dave put out boxes and plastic bottles.

We suspected it was part bedtime delay tactic but still, it seemed like A Good Thing. Max isn't prone to spontaneously offering to lend a hand with stuff around the house because it's easier to have one of us help him with menial tasks. He's gotten chores in recent years, including loading and unloading the laundry machine, picking up around his room and setting the table. He's pretty meh about them. "I love doing my chores!" said no child ever.

Then Max volunteered to help with the recycling, and he actually does get psyched for it every Sunday night. So do I, in part because Max has been sparing me that clichéd "Take out the trash" nagging. It's he who doesn't let Dave forget.

Never, in the history of recycling, have Pampers boxes been so enthusiastically taken to the curb.

Last night, I stood at the back door holding Ben and watching Max in action. "Two hands!" I mouthed through the glass but, as usual, he was determined to use only his left hand.

I stared down at Ben and thought about how when Max was a baby I could have never imagined the day would come when I would see him walking down our driveway taking out trash. I mean, what parent dreams of that?! But there he was, hauling boxes. Such an ordinary thing that seemed anything but, to me.