JJ awoke early this morning, shuffled up the steps and plopped himself down on the couch as he so often does. But this time I could hear a faint wheezing in his breath and an accompanying bark-cough. Poor J was sick and was sentenced to a Sunday at home with dada (and Davey, who would inevitable enjoy a nice nap).
So, Aaron and I prepared for Sunday meetings by ourselves. Aaron put up his usual fight about what he wants to wear--he is so very particular when it comes to his church attire. When he has his mind set on a certain combination it's very hard to help him learn about good and bad color combinations in the moment. (I really should help him lay out his Sunday outfits in advance.) But thankfully he bent this morning and decided not to wear his maroon collared shirt with the fluorescent orange tie. He switched to a white shirt last minute and we both were doing our best to smile as we walked out the door.
We walked into sacrament meeting a little late, squeezed in next to the Scotts, and then I exhaled. We made it. And then I looked to my side to see my handsome boy snuggled up to my side as we sang the sacrament hymn. His long body curled in close to mine. His shaggy hair--still wet from the tub--hung haphazardly around his face. And his beautiful clear blue eyes gazed thoughtfully up at mine. "What!?" He said in a silly six year old voice in a tone much too loud for church. "I just love you," I whispered in his cochlear, even though I'm sure he knew what I was thinking. I put my arm around him, amazed that he was nearly as big as the boy passing us the sacrament. And then I thanked heaven he is mine--that all my boys are "mine," on loan from above.
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