I love you.

How many times do we say that to our children?

We say it when we tuck them in, when we leave them with Grandma, when they get on

the bus in the morning, when we drop them off at a sleepover... over and over, as they

continue on their precarious journey towards adulthood.

In a world that can be overwhelming and frightening, we want them to know that no

matter what happens, they are loved.

Never do we want to casually let them go without the extra layer of love wrapped

around their gangly frames.  They may reject the jacket, although the windchill is in the

teens, and it may be difficult to convince them to wear a hat, but we can always feel

better if we send them off with the warmth of "I love you."

Little ones reciprocate generously.  "I wuv oo too, mommy."  We think it will always be

this way... the sticky kisses, the sweet little arms reaching up to hug us back, the

earnest declarations of affection, even in public.  

I hear that there are children who unabashedly keep telling their moms "I love you."  I

believe they are the same children I heard about who slept through the night at two

months of age... who were potty trained by a year and a half... and critically reading

Shakespeare by age two.  Some day I hope to meet some of these specimens, who share

no DNA with my offspring.

Collin was about two years old when, upon being kissed, he loudly declared (with his Swedish

accent) "VIPE-IT-OFF!"  And proceeded to wipe off any offending mommy germs. 

As he got older, he developed a severe speech impediment:  He was unable to even

form the words "I love you."  The closest he got to it was "Umphght."  Never mind that

he was able to elucidate quite clearly on why I was wasting the family's finances by

paying for an oil change when he could easily do it for me (right after he cleaned his

room, wrote four college scholarship essays, and toured Europe). Never mind that he

could speak English, Spanish, and ask for pancakes and hazelnut chocolate bars in

Swedish.  The words "I love you" were a linguistic impossibility.

But as a mom, I continue to tell Collin, Ethan, and Linnea I love them.  I will say it as

they leave home, as they set out on the grand adventure of adulthood, and every

time I text them: b careful. luv u. 

My blog is about the lighter side of parenthood.  It chronicles the crazy side of life

with these peanut-sized peanut butter and jelly consumers that are entrusted to us

for a few short years.  But it is also about love.  

"I love you, Collin, Ethan, and Linnea."

"Umphght."

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                           Mamma and the gang at the beach