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Somethin' About Love

The same little boy who climbed into our bed at 6:25 this morning saying his stomach had a growl in it, and who then chose 6:26 to whap me in the shnaz spreading his arms and legs past their natural hinges so I could see how much he loved me…that boy–still in his striped pjs with the bear patch on ’em eventually wandered downstairs and  found the Christmas tags.  “It’s almost Christmas,” he beamed, displaying our bottom stair fresh with Christmas tags stuck to the carpet.  And I’d’ve believed him on his enthusiasm alone had his sister not informed us both with a shout from the other room that it wasn’t almost Christmas, but Thanksgiving.

Which caused her brother to shout back, “oh yeah, ” in the same half-second, like he’d merely misspoken.  And then move all seventeen tags to the wall.  Where they, uh, belong.

Here he is later…pondering life at three years old .  Or..

The Letter “H.”  As in take your hand and make one.

Which goes nicely with our van door.

And which I’ll smile at again come February when we scrub the thing off.

Only now, I’ll just smile at our simple exchange.  The one that hasn’t changed from the first to the four hundredth time.  Or grown old from overuse.  The one we shared while we shopped.

“Guess what?”  I’d asked, my face real close to his.

And he’d looked up, waiting with his eyes for the answer he fully knew was coming.

And I’d whispered, “I love you.”

 

Which made him show his pretty little teeth.

And me wonder how my heart ever beat without this kid.

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