Last night, my 7 year old, Addison, tripped and fell at church,
giving himself a bloody nose and fat lip.
These things happen. Regularly.
But at dinner, I noticed how puffy his top lip was and I said,
"Addie, your lips look like kissy lips."
This is our family word for having a nice pucker.
He answered, "So I can get the woman."
His Aunt Jenny died laughing. He was smiling. Big.
And I said indignantly, "The woman? What woman are you trying to get?"
Without missing a beat, he said, "You."
I proceeded to kiss him. A lot.
"Well, you did it. You got me."
This morning when I woke up and found him curled up next to me,
warm and sleepy, I had to kiss him again.
On the forehead. On the cheek. On the bridge of his nose.
I know that I will turn around a couple of times and Addie will be
shrugging off my affections with an eye roll and an exasperated, "Mom!"
So I am thinking I am going to take all the kisses I can get now.
With or without kissy lips.