I wuv you

(As I mentioned in my last post, I am on vacation this week. My guest poster today is Jonny's Mommy, over at Boondock Ramblings. What can I say about Jonny's Mommy? Sometimes her posts make me laugh, sometimes they make me cry, but I always enjoy them. She is my most loyal reader and commenter, so I just LOVE her. )


I am so excited to be guest posting for the infamous Jen at Rants and Raves! I’ve been reading Jen for quite awhile now, keeping up, especially, on her son Dylan, a mere two weeks younger than my Jonathan. Of course I also love reading about her hunky husband Jim (I’m sure she would say this. Of course, I’m not saying he’s hunky. I mean, he is, but . . . I’m not saying that, because that would be inappropriate . . . ya’ know speaking about another woman’s husband that way. OK. Listen, I’m trying to be nice and honest. He’s hunky. But so is my hubby. That’s all I’m sayin’. Movin’ on.)

What impresses me most about Jen’s Dylan is how smart the kid is. I mean, he is really smart. And so articulate. I have to admit, there were times I was a bit jealous of how articulate and smart that little Dylan was. I began comparing him to my little guy. I imagined he was already telling his mommy and daddy he loved them, when, no matter how many times I prompted him, I couldn’t convince Jonathan to tell me he loves me.

Then it hit me -- my little guy is pretty smart himself. Maybe he wasn’t talking as well, or as early as Dylan, but what he didn’t say, Jonathan made up in actions, something he continues to do.

I am constantly amazed at what Jonathan does and as he begins to speak more I am also amazed at what he says. I may not always understand him, but I do now, more than ever, understand he’s developed his parents’ sense of humor, sarcasm, and smart mouth.

On Memorial Day Jonathan and I traveled to my parents, about 45 minutes away. At the end of the day Jonathan was not interested in climbing in the car to go home. He wanted to collect rocks and put them in his bucket, in the ditch, and anywhere else he could find to throw and store rocks.

I gave him about 15 minutes of “rock play” and then lifted him into the car and told him we had to head home to see daddy (the man who stayed home, cleaned the house and did all the grocery shopping. Isn’t he amazing? Later that night he also jammed his knee while playing with his son and remained in severe agony for part of the night, shrugging it off because he said he was simply glad his son had had fun.).

Once in his car seat Jonathan took his pail, filled with rocks, and turned it upside down in the seat next to him. Rocks were spread all over the back seat of our car.

“Jonathan! I said you could keep them in the pail! Not pour them all over the car!” I shouted and started scooping up the rocks and tossing them back into the driveway.

Then I heard it, at least I’m pretty sure I heard it: “Mama,” in a very pitiful tone. “I wuv you.”

That might be what I said, but I heard this: “But mama. I love you. Why are you yelling at me?”

I gasped a little, looked Jonathan in the eye and said “Did you just say I love you?”

He grinned sheepishly, bowed his head, and said “Yeah, mama.”

He knew I would melt like hot butter on a summer day. I kissed his forehead and said “Oh, baby, I love you too.”

I hooked his seatbelt, shut the door, turned away and muttered to myself: “You little stinker.”

I’m pretty sure that all along that kid knew how to say “I love you” and was waiting for just the right moment -- the moment he could whip that emotional arsenal out and shoot his way out of trouble. Little stinker.