I was in the kitchen (where else?) the other day when Emmett came running in. He pointed to the skillet on the stove and asked, “Is hot, daddy?” in that cute, halting diction of his. “Yes, it’s very hot,” I replied. “OK,” he said, and turned to run back to the living room.
Just before he was out of the kitchen, I said, “Hey, can you come give daddy a hug?” Emmett stopped and looked back at me with an expression that indicated he wasn’t sure he wanted to take the time. Yet he relented. “OK.” So I met him halfway and knelt beside him to give him a squeeze. “Should I do a biiiiig hug, or a teeny, tiny hug?” I asked. Emmett smiled, snuggled into me just a little, and said, “tiny hug.” So I gave him his tiny hug and told him I loved him. I looked into his smiling face and saw his eyes were twinkling with delight. He reached out to fumble with my scraggly beard and said, “you happy.” Like a declaration, not a question. I said, “Yes, I am happy,” and I gave him the biiiiig hug, too, after all.
