This morning after I sent Brooklyn and Roman off to school, I was embarking on the task of cleaning up breakfast when little Greggory asked me if I wanted to play with him.
"Sure," I said. That sounded more fun than doing dishes. "What are we going to play?"
"Restaurant," he said, and continued, "I'm the Ice Cream Man and you sit here and then I'll give you ice cream and a toy."
I sat licking my fake ice cream--which happened to be a stack of rubber tires on a stick--and asked him if he wanted any food.
"No," he said knowingly, "Ice Cream Men don't eat." I nodded, agreeing with him. Soon Holland wandered over. I told her to sit down, too. Greggory, the Ice Cream Man, handed her a plate with a plastic turkey on it. She watched how I nibbled on my ice cream and then pretended to nibble on her food, too. Except her food got a lot wetter than mine.
We sat for a few minutes in the hall. I was thinking, this is so fun. And Greggory and Holland and the kids get to do this every day. What have I been doing all these years?
"Mom?" Greggory asked.
"Guess what. I love you." He stated it matter-of-factly.
"Guess what, Greggory?" I asked him.
"Ladybugs don't bite?" He answered.
"Yes. And I love you, too."