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Yes, sir. That’s my baby.

A tear stained face peeked through the doorway and eyed me reproachfully.

“You not yell at me,” Will ordered.

“Mommy wouldn’t have to yell at you if you would do what she said,” I replied, trying not to grin.

“You too loud. You not yell at me. Not anymore.”

I crouched down to Will’s eye level, listening to the crunch of my knees and ignoring the spasms threatening to take hold of my lower back. “Will…Mommy was very afraid you were going to get burned by the hot grease that was popping out of her pan. And when Mommy get’s scared, that’s when she yells the most.”

“Dat not nice.”

This time I couldn’t hold back the grin. “How about I try not to yell, and you do what Mommy says the first time so she doesn’t have to get scared. O.k.?”

“O.k.” Will reluctantly agreed. I sat him on the counter while I tidied around him. Brushing bits of carrot and onion into my hand then depositing them in the garbage. Will contemplated me silently, his tiny feet swinging in time to some internal rhythm. I dropped a kiss on the top of his tousled head as I passed by and turned to stir my latest culinary endeavor.

Over my shoulder, I heard, “Dat’s my Mommy.”

Turning, I smiled at my youngest boy and said, “That’s my Will Will.”

Looks like I’ve been forgiven.

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  1. Tamara says

    So sweet!

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