Every day we battle, literally and figuratively.
“Stop arguing with me,” I say. Then, as he continues in protest, I declare, “I’m not going to argue with you!”
Meanwhile, he points his little finger-guns at me and “pchoo-pchoo” in my face.
“Put your fingers away,” I say and he does, but his hazel eyes are still alight with the fire of battle.
Off he runs to man a pirate ship, kill a bear and battle the household pets. But before long, he’s back in the kitchen, a little gnat buzzing circles around my legs.
“Me have Super Powers!” he says, his arms raised and fists folded like a boxer. “Me a bad guy. Me destroy you.”
Sigh. This is almost-four-year-old boy through and through. He wants to “take over the world.” He “has a plan.” I am the only one standing in his way.
Leaning down, I scoop him up by the armpits and snuggle him in as he wiggles and giggles.
“Me have Super Powers too!” I say.
“What’s your Super Powers?” he asks, leery.
“Me have Love Power,” I reply, triumphant. “Me have Hug
Power.” Then, with finality, I declare, “Love Power always wins.”
He’s pretty sure that love is NOT a Super Power, but surrenders anyway.
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