Doesn’t it always seem my stories about my kids take place in the car? I truly think we spend three quarters of our life in there.
Today’s tale is no different.
Tonight, I was driving my daughter, Jordan, to her friend’s house for a sleepover. On the way there, and out of the blue, Jordan said to me, “Mommy, it’s a good thing Daddy didn’t die in Iraq.”
Uhm. Yeah. That’s an understatement.
“Because,” she continued, “ if Daddy died, we wouldn’t have Bennett or Maclain, either.”
She had a good point there. Both of her brothers were born after her Daddy came home.
As we drove, I thought about how insightful and sensitive her thoughts were. Those days of her father being gone were not forgotten by her. And, apparently, she loved her brothers so much, she couldn’t bear the thought that they might have never been born.
(That’s the sound of my bubble bursting.)
“But . . .” Jordan went on, “if they were never born, you’d still have an office because Bennett wouldn’t be sleeping in it. And, we’d have a guest room where our friends could sleep over . . . and, I’d be able to paint my room green . . .“
So much for not being able to bear the thought of not having her brothers.
It seems that decorating and rearranging the house is much more enticing to my seven-year-old daughter than those pesky little boys who follow her around all day long.
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