March 10, 2014

my baby

Jubilee is one month younger than Brave, but because her maturity level is so high, and his is so low not, Brave is the baby of the family, in terms of roles anyway. And consequently, it is Brave to whom I can rarely say no. If the kids are smart, they'll always send Brave to ask for Snicker bars in the checkout or extra time outside before bed. I just can't resist that dimple. It's pathetic of me, I know.

And the other thing is, he wants to be with me. What mom doesn't love that? On Sunday mornings, when everyone else goes trotting off to Sunday school, Brave stays behind and sits between Daniel and me, quietly playing with the ends of my hair, or playing airplane with his hands. He's so easy-going and cuddly. I just can't make him go in there and cry his head off. I just can't.

And on Saturday mornings, when everyone else is sleeping-in or playing with legos on the rug, Brave is right by my side, begging for food, or wanting to be held (he's so heavy now that I make him jump up on the count of three so I don't throw out my back). And on those Saturday mornings when I make eggs with a splash of cream, a fistful of cheese, three dashes of salt and a pinch of pepper, scrambled fluffy in a pool of melted butter, I have a handsome, dimpled-cheek helper in fuzzy blue pajamas.

Oh the love.