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Sunday was a tough, tough day over here. (And Monday started off pretty rough, too.)

Simon was in whiny mood, and by dinner-time I was ready to throttle him. Nothing grates on my nerves as much as when Simon looks at me, screws up his face, and whines and cries for no good reason. This crying is completely different from when Simon is genuinely scared or hurt. It’s premeditated and fake. On a good day, it amuses me. On a bad day, it gets under my skin and enrages me. Sunday, sick to death of endless days of cloud and rain and feeling restless, was an example of the latter.

Thank goodness we had dinner plans with Sophie and her parents. Sophie always brings out the best in Simon, and spending time with her and her parents always cheers me up. In fact, Sophie shares with Simon’s classmate Greta and my niece Olivia the distinction of having said one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard a child say. Just a few weeks ago, at Seneca Park, she, Matt, and Simon were playing as a group when she looked up at Matt and said, “I am a bad baby sitter named Shawna. Now you pretend to go to work.” We have no idea what she had in store for Simon, and we didn’t wait to find out!

Anyway, having endured Simon until dinner, our get-together provided a welcome respite as Sophie worked her regular magic on Simon’s mood. Then it was back home and time for a quick bath, a quick story, and bedtime. Just as we were drying Simon off after his bath, came the moment that made up for all the whining and grumpiness. Lying on his back on our bed, wrapped in a towel and still glistening from the water, Simon began to talk to himself in a sing-songy voice:

Wee Willie Winkie

Run troo the town

Upstair downstair

In ‘is night gown

[indecipherable] at the window [with hand gestures]

Crying troo the lock

Are baby all in bed

Now it eight o’clock

He recited the whole thing in his lovely two-and-half-year-old patois. It was accurate enough to follow along and immediately recognize, and mangled just enough to be unmistakably the recitation of a very young child. As he continued, the day’s stress completely dissolved and allowed me to say to him—with utter honesty—that he makes every day special.

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