Eli is nine and he still is more apt than not to hold my hand while we're out strolling, or like this morning, to crawl into my bed early in the morning, snuggle up and give me some heartwarming affirmation of his love. This morning I got a sleepy, "You're the best mom in the whole world....no, even in other worlds too." Which I take and stick into my bank of lovely sayings, saving up for the times in adolescence when the boys might not be so free with their sweet nothings. But yesterday we got the cold affirmation of the fact that Jon and I, though still clearly loved and treasured by our boys, have fallen to second fiddle in their esteem when it comes to having a good time. And who has taken our place? The babysitter. Rebecca. I know that this should not be a shock to us. The hints have been floating around all year, but yesterday Eli summed it up like this:
Jon- "Eli, you know, you could have Rebecca help you with your spelling homework this afternoon while she's here."
Eli (eyes agog)- "Dad!! That would be like asking me to jump out of line at an amusement park in order to do my spelling!! I'll wait til after she leaves and you're home."
So, I guess time with Rebecca = amusement park-like excitement. Time with mom and dad? Spelling practice. Dang.
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