Playing Favorites

I don't play favorites. I try very hard to treat all my children equally. But today, I have a favorite child. You, sweet Will, are my favorite today. What makes you my favorite today? Simple things, really. You didn't scream so loudly at the park when you slightly injured your lip that everyone thought you were surely dying. You didn't change clothes sixteen times today according to what you were playing at the time. You didn't grab the bun off my chicken sandwich and ball it up into a tight dinner roll before I could even take a bite. You didn't get into an argument with your cousin at the park that ended with you both claiming to never speak to one another again. You didn't call sweet Miss Patt, our dear friend at Chick-fil-a, a "stinky head" when she tried to give you a hug. And you certainly didn't tell her you were going to go home and get your gun and shoot her because she started loving on your baby brother. You didn't throw a tantrum when I said it was time to leave and require me to drag you, kicking and screaming, through the crowded parking lot. You sat nicely in your car seat and didn't stand behind me, as I was driving, screaming in my ear that you didn't want to buckle up. You didn't drive your tractor into the side of Mama's car and leave a nice red streak down the side. So, yes, if I had a favorite (which, of course, I don't), you would be it, sweet boy. Thank you for keeping me from teetering over into insanity with your sweet smiles and warm love. You are the best.