One day late last summer I got inspired to clean out the fridge. With the pile of going green left-overs and nearly empty forgotten jars, a single white, polka-dotted number 2 shaped candle got thrown out. I never even knew he was attached to that thing, but apparently he was because he came inquiring about it a few days later. I've since relaxed thinking he'd forgotten about it.
I was wrong.
From the backseat of the van today comes this - "Mom, you broke my heart. My heart that is right in here," he says as he smacks his little chest.
I try not to laugh. I try not show him that I'm struggling to take this statement seriously. "Your heart?" I ask. "How did I do that?"
"You broke my 2 candle. You threw it away. It broke my heart."
So I try to fix it because that's what we mom's do. We fix broken hearts - or at least try to. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Well you're not going to be two any more. You're going to be three so we have to get a three candle."
"No," he says as if I'm just totally clueless. "What I need is a two candle and a one candle. You frew them both out."
Tonight as Daddy picked Logan up for a big old bear hug, Logan leans back, raises an eyebrow and stares intently at Daddy's nose.
"Daddy? Why you got fur up your nose?"
Today, for the first time in nearly 3 years, someone other than a grandparent babysat my children. Sure, they both spend time in their respective class/nursery on a Sunday morning but that's not the same. And ok, so I didn't actually leave the home while the teenaged sitter was here. But still. Logan loved her - took her to tour his room, his yard and his toys scattered about the house. Megan wasn't so happy. If she could see/hear me she was screaming for me. Fine out in the yard, but otherwise - not so much.
Before J arrived Logan and I talked about how a new friend was going to come play with him and Megan.
"No, just me" he said.
"No, you and Megan. I need to work so J will play with both of you."
"Megan can sit on the blanket with her toys. She likes that," he said before falling into one of his pensive silences. "Why do you have to work?" he finally asked.
"Because my boss wants me to finish a few projects up, sweetie. If I don't get them done, he might get cranky," I told him without exaggerating in the slightest.
He mulled it over. I could see his the synapses firing. "Why is your boss cranky? Maybe he needs a nap."