Last night I was snuggling on the couch with Beckett before he went to bed, and we were laughing, and tickling each other, and being silly.  I said, “I love you, Beckett.” He said, “I love you, Achoo.” We giggled.

Then I asked him, “Beckett, what is love. What does love mean?”  He answered, “It’s a sign language.”

I laughed and questioned his logic. “A sign language? What do you mean? How is love a sign language?”

And my sweetest little three year old boy in the entire universe leaned over and gave me a soft kiss.  “That’s love.”  And then he put his arms around me, and hugged me, and said, “That’s love.”

“OH! A sign language! I see. I like that!”, I exclaimed proudly. 

Then he reached over and honked my nose, and poked me in the eye. “That is NOT love.” 

I didn’t want to argue with him, but even when I get honked or poked, smacked, or asked to SCOOT OVER!, when it comes to Beckett it’s all love to me.

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