cuddles

Dylan,

Right now you're snuggling with Mommy.

You think you're being sneaky and delaying your bath. I had just told you the bath was ready and it was time for you to take off your clothes. You responded with "Where Mommy go?". I said she was laying on the bed, just two feet away.

"Cuddles?"

This was a new take on essentially the same maneuver you pull with me sometimes while I'm getting you dressed for bed and you say "Hug?" in a sheepish little voice with matching eyes.

I'm sure in your little head you know that Mommy likes her cuddles and Daddy likes his hugs, and you think you're pulling one over on us -- manipulating a weakness to buy time -- but I'll tell it to ya straight: Dylan, you can use that tactic all you like. If you want to hug me for 10 minutes between putting on your onesie and your sleeper, fine. If you want to cuddle for an hour before bedtime, Mommy's fingers stroking your angel hair, that's fine too. We'll take it while we can get it.

A voluntary hug from you, even as a delay tactic, is invariably a life-defining moment. Your hug could plant a kernel of love even in the heart of darkness. Like a journalist fresh out of school it nails the Who, the What, the When, the Where, and especially the Why. Of pretty much everything.

Good night,

Daddy