Love and Be Loved

It was one of those nights when Phil's working late and and I feel like I'm holding it all together with a ratty piece of string. The boys were hooligans at the library. Lily ran over my toes with the highchair. Dinner was edible at best, and Oscar couldn't seem to stop calling it "pig," which sort of ruined it for me. Henry wouldn't eat his dinner. The baby was fussy. Oscar wouldn't stop reading his book. Henry was begging for candy. As I was getting the baby ready for bed, a somewhat tearful Henry came into my room and stood by the rocking chair. I said, "I love you, Henro." He said, crying afresh and shaking his head emphatically, "No you don't, no you don't!" I asked, 'Why, because I wouldn't give you candy?" He nodded, then asked me, "Who is your baby?"

I answered, "You are my baby."

He pointed to William, "Who is this?"

I answered, "This is your baby."

That seemed to satisfy him, and he climbed into my lap to be snuggled. And I thought, isn't that like all of us? Sometimes it's enough to know that we're loved by someone, and a bad day doesn't seem so bad after all.