Tay-tyou Mom-mom

This is an experience that happened just tonight. Two of my favorite things about David is how frequently he says thank you (Tay-tyou) and how he currently says my name.

The thank you is to die for--it melts my heart every time. At diaper changes, when I get him out of his carseat, every new bit of food, when we put shoes on, when I open the door to go outside. . . everything is greeted with a sweet little "Tay-tyou".

David's names for Sam and I have morphed a bit over the last several months. At first it was Dada. Then it was Dada and Mama. A few months ago it changed to Daddy and Mommy. Now he is back to Dada and I am his Mom-mom. I love it to pieces. And I love him to pieces.

Picture me in the kitchen tonight, trying to prepare a meal to break our fast. David is at my legs. Sam is gone to church meetings, late getting home. David is tired, clingy, and hungry. I am tired and hungry, just trying to  get the enchiladas in to the oven. I turn my back away from the enchilada pan to shred more chicken. Then I hear this in the sweetest voice:
D: Tay-tyou Mom-mom.
Me: (Without turning around, still shredding the chicken.) You're welcome, sweetheart. What are you thanking me for?
D: Mmmmm. Tay-tyou Mom-mom.

At this, I turn around. David has succesfully reached in to a pan of enchiladas and pulled one out for himself. He is covered in beans, chicken, cheese and sauce, just licking the last of it from the tortilla. The kitchen cupboards and floor have evidence that a person smaller than 3 feet helped himself to the enchiladas. Yes, he was standing on the floor when he reached inside that casserole dish. Sometimes I think he has go-go-gadget arms.

He was too darling, telling me thank you with enchilada covering him head to toe.

Thank you, sweet boy, for the memory. I will smile at it for a long time to come. (And next time, please don't reach that far without asking for help. You could have burnt yourself if they had already been in the oven.)