My favorite child


His lips spread thin in a smile, the twinkle in his eye made me laugh.  "HaHa!!  Mama loves me most!" He boasted. A brother muscled passed him with a playful jar, dipped me for a kiss, then wiggled his eyebrows at the family.  Which made us all howl.

Then when the testosterone game between the two was done, their third brother locked eyes with me privately and nodded - like we shared a secret.


All of my sons think I love them most.

That they're my favorite child.

And I don't do anything to dissuade their confidence.

Sometimes... I even fan the flames!


It's not like I'm building their foundation on the Tooth Fairy, or Leprechauns making mischief in March, I'm talking that deep down, no one can steal it heart-happiness that comes from knowing to our toes that we are LOVED.




To solidify the knowledge I've been known to whisper into a velvet ear, "I couldn't love you more if my life depended on it!"   Sure shootin' that son would prop up on his elbows, eyes wide open.  "You love me the most, don't you?"  I never really give the answer, but I threaten him dearly,  "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it to their face!"

A deep and solemn nod.

So I don't really tell them that I love them more than their brothers, but they each think they've got the innermost place in my heart.  Like they're sitting on Jesus' lap, right there on the throne of my heart.  That's where they each see themselves.





I imagine the day they bury me.  Laying my body down and lifting up shared memories.  How the brothers will sit around a table, and raise a glass of Martinellis in my honor.  One of them, probably the boastful third born, will break the silence.  "You know guys, I really was her favorite."  They'll laugh together then, and share the stories of all the back rubs and all the threats, and all the knowing winks when the other two weren't looking.

Each day I'm writing my own eulogy, with words and with hugs and with smiles that all communicate the best of my love.




Each day I'm writing my own eulogy.


Just curious:

Are my kids the only ones who do this?  Or do yours muscle for the throne seat of your heart too?