Sweetie-Head

Will's affectionate name for Sophie is "Sweetie-Head." He has learned about God's and his parents' unconditional love for him, and he in turn bestows it on her by reminding her:

"There is NOTHING you can do that will make you stop being my Sweetie!"

Of course, our mischievous Rof takes this as a personal challenge and tries her best to aggravate him, just to ask, "Am I still your Sweetie?" He growls and sighs, "Yes, you are still my Sweetie."

So, in view of her tests, he has developed a Sweetie-number system through which he tracks our standings. Therefore, she can remain his Sweetie while suffering a decline in Sweetie-number as a result of her irritations.

For a while, my Sweetie-number was always 16, while Sophie's was 100. However, from school he's recently developed a better grasp of higher numbers, so my Sweetie-number is now usually somewhere around 10 to the 12th power, or in Will's words "One, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero...".

Tonight at dinner we had a small conflict as a result of him being rude and demanding. As I scolded him, Will's countenance (as it often does) transformed immediately from intolerant despot to injured victim, complete with tears.

Tonight we were back on good terms and I was getting ready to leave his bedroom. (When it's my turn to get them to bed, after reading and prayers, I put Sophie to bed and come back to say goodnight. And each night, he asks me, "Do you have anything you want to say?" and I tell him I love him or I'm so glad God gave him to me or something similar. Then he'll say, "We're starting the New Usual**." We lay in silence for a few moments, then I say goodnight and leave.)

This time, for the first time ever, after I'd made my final statement of love and pride, Will said, "Well, I have something to say. Even though I was disappointed in you tonight, I don't want you to think it changed your Sweetie-number."

{smile} Before parenthood, who could have foreseen the little declarations that one day would give us joy? Who else can understand the rewards of love that these tiny innocent souls offer us again and again? This night, Will had perceived my flawed humanity and was still offering me his love and acceptance. It meant as much as all the hero-worship I've received over the years as a mom and will never live up to.

** The New Usual became effective when Sophie got old enough to require extra attention at bedtime, and I explained to Will that I could no longer stay "the usual amount" of time with him at night. "There's going to have to be a 'new usual'", I explained then. Since then, the New Usual has come to symbolize a few moments of silent companionship just before bed. There is no talking allowed. In fact, even [my apparently] loud breathing is discouraged.

Inner Beauty

I hear an altercation upstairs, and walk over to the living room to check on things. I notice that Sophie is dressed up in her brand new tutu (thanks, Tia!) and full ballerina garb.

"Wow, Sophie!" I say as she starts down the stairs.

Will watches her from the landing, shaking his head. He has a warning for me: "She's beautiful but unkind!"

A Couple More Doses of Will

Will: I wish our (Little Einsteins toy) computer was like Maddox's. You can choose the game on hers. Ours chooses the game for you.

Mom: Oh. Does Maddox's computer look like yours?

Will: No, hers just looks like a regular computer. It doesn't have that jacked-up cartoon-y stuff on it like ours does.

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Will has just taken off his socks and is cleaning between his toes. "I wish there was such a thing as a toe flosser!"

Concept Application

We've talked a lot about looking with our eyes and not with our hands, and not touching food on a serving dish until we've selected the piece we're going to take.

Now I am rifling through the Pillsbury crescent rolls at Publix, trying to find the ones with the best dates.

Sophie: Mama! Quit touching all those things you are not going to buy!

Yin and Yang

Will and I are having a quiet morning in the car alone.

Will: Mom, I think I'm going to be a serious person when I grow up.

Mom: Why do you think that?

Will: Well, you know how you are a serious person and Daddy is a silly person?

Mom: I'm not sure about that...

Will: I think I am going to be serious. You know how I say {very serious voice here}, "No, Sophie, don't do that." ...I think that she is going to be a silly person like Daddy.

Questions

Will continues to ask us lots of questions that completely stump us. Obviously, he should have been in charge of developing the English language:

Will: Why is a flashlight called a flashlight? It doesn't flash. Why isn't it just called a light?

Will: Why is sawdust called sawdust and not wooddust? It comes from the wood, not the saw.

Sweetness!

I don't gush too much about my kids, but seeing their affection toward each other is such a joy. Most often I see them displaying... um, we'll just call them "Emotions Other Than Affection", toward one another!

However, when Will says goodbye to me before unloading at school, he has begun to say goodbye to his sister, too. First, he "surprises" me with a hug from between the seats. Then he lurches over to her side of the car to give her a big hug before getting out.

Sophie grins, hugs back, and says in a deep, jovial Fat Albert voice, "HEY, THAT'S MY BOY!!!"