We have a biter.
My two year old, he of sky blues eyes, open-mouthed kisses and bright grins, is a biter. He bites his sister hard and my heart breaks open wide.
We don't bite. We don't hurt. We love each other.
We are gentle. We are kind. We love each other.
We listen with our ears. We help with our hands.
We. Love. Each. Other.
He's usually remorseful. Tender kisses, loving pats and baby-signed "I'm sorry"s aren't even a show. He means them, and her quick forgiveness makes my heart catch.
But he means the biting, too. Enough to draw tears and red welts.
*****
She's such a verbal processor. They scuffle over toys or paper or God-knows-what, and she prevails because she has words.
She smells weakness. If only he could argue his position satisfactorily...
When words are law, she'll always win.
(i'll always win)
(but words aren't law)
His bite is worse than his bark.
(he just wants to be heard)
We are gentle. We are kind.
We listen with our ears.
We Love Each Other.
suzannah paul lives the life bucolic at a summer camp with her young family and writes love letters to the broken, beautiful Church at so much shouting, so much laughter.
7 comments:
great choice to highlight em...enjoyed this one as i read yesterday...have a great weekend!
this was great! well written♥
just lovely! I had a biter too :)
I like that you're highlighting entries because I don't have the chance to read them all. Loved this.
Awwww...I can just picture his remorseful little face and signing "i'm sorry." Cute post!
Lovely. I saw this scroll by earlier this week and meant to go back to it. So glad you featured Suzannah here.
I'm thinking about mouths. She has mastered her organs of articulation; his still elude his will. So he appropriates the teeth to another, more instinctive purpose.
Hmm.
But the loving ears and helping hands and kindness...they cover much.
This is beautiful.
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