Nothing will cure what ails you faster than an unsolicited kiss from a 3-year-old.
Earlier in the week as I was standing at the kitchen sink, Sean comes in to the kitchen and yanks on my shirt. “Mommy, I want to kiss you,” he says looking up at me.
“Terrific!” I say, drying my hands on a dish towel. Having played several lightening rounds of “Who’s The Boss” earlier in the day, I am delighted to be the object of his affection, yet suspicious. I bend over, close my eyes and brace myself. I am expecting one of those big sloppy snotty kisses where he uses my face for a Kleenex. Instead, he takes my face in his hands and as gentle as a butterfly, he kisses the tip of my nose.
“There!” he announces, “Howdya’ like that?”
I open my eyes. We are still nose to nose. “I liked it very much!” I say.
And then he plants two more on my nose.
“Here’s two more for later in case you need them.”
I use the dish towel in my hands to mop up my heart off the floor.