While we were celebrating with much deserved ice cream (see the last post), Owen wowed me. We went to one of those fill-your-own-cup places and I promised both boys they could have whipped cream. I put Noah's treat on the scale to be weighed, squirted on some whipped cream, and then put Owen's cup on the scale. The clerk rang me up and I paid. Noah grabbed his ice cream and was off to find a table. Owen, instead, got really quiet and hugged me from the side. When I heard a little whimper, I looked down. My little guy was taking some deep breaths to calm himself down while burying his little face in my shirt.
"What's the matter, Love?"
""Mommy," his little voice was a quivering whisper, "You said I could have whipped cream."
Awestruck, I looked at the guy behind the counter and (bless him) he grabbed the can of whipped cream and added it on top without charge. I just hugged my Owen so hard. There was no tantrum. "Owen," I said, "Thank you for telling me what was wrong and what you wanted. Thank you so much."
He smiled through his few remaining sniffles, but I think I saw some extra swag in his step as he carried his ice cream to the table.
"What's the matter, Love?"
""Mommy," his little voice was a quivering whisper, "You said I could have whipped cream."
Awestruck, I looked at the guy behind the counter and (bless him) he grabbed the can of whipped cream and added it on top without charge. I just hugged my Owen so hard. There was no tantrum. "Owen," I said, "Thank you for telling me what was wrong and what you wanted. Thank you so much."
He smiled through his few remaining sniffles, but I think I saw some extra swag in his step as he carried his ice cream to the table.