I love you 85

My daughter told me the other day that she loved me 85. I guess that’s a lot when you are just four years old. Next she told her brother that she loved him eight. He was a little offended at the obvious gap in her affection level. Then she said she loved the dog seven, and her brother grew even more offended. I told him to look on the bright side. She could have given the dog a love rating of nine. But since the dog doesn’t even like her unless she’s tossing food his way, I thought seven was really generous and understood her brother’s feeling insulted.

On Saturday my mom came for a two-week visit, and so we chose elated as the word of the week. (Last week's word was symmetrical.) It was pretty clear that my daughter was elated that her grandmother was coming to play. And who wouldn’t be? I told my mother, “No playing dollhouse, no talking fairies in the bathtub, and no lying with her until she falls asleep.” It’s just too hard when she leaves to keep up with her level of attentiveness. She didn’t listen to me, and I don’t blame her. It’s hard to tell your granddaughter “no” when she’s so obviously your biggest fan.

So they’ve played dollhouse and talked fairies and they both fell asleep, side-by-side in my daughter’s small twin bed. What I’ve yet to hear is a number assigned to how much my daughter loves her grandmother. I’m sure it will be my turn to feel jealous.