I love you more than a quesadilla full of bugs

I spent time with my nephew this weekend and he always teaches me something. He is four years old, but sometimes I think there is much more wisdom than is often expected in our short young friends.

He loves. No matter what, he loves. You can make chocolate milk different than his mom, you can make him wash his hair, you can tell him "No", and still he loves. How many of us in the over four set have that one down?

He is flexible. Running to the store last minute? Ok, I'll sing all the way there from my car seat. Spending the night at someone else's house? Ok, we'll see what snacks they have to offer. Don't get me wrong--there are times of unhappiness when that bottom lip sticks out far enough for a bird to land on it, but over all, he's content to roll with the punches. Maybe it's the fact that he has no power and no choice, so he just makes the best of it. Hmmmm. Do I have a choice of what will happen to me next? Do I have the power? Maybe I should just make the best of it, come what may.

He sees things differently. He told his mother "I love you more than a quesadilla full of bugs." That may not sound like the highest form of praise, but for all I know, he's eaten a quesadilla full of bugs. He was expressing his love to his mom in the greatest way he could think. So the compliment was taken in the way it was given--sincerely. Sometimes the not-quite-right or even downright wrong words are thrown at me, yet the intention is there. Do I get caught up in the inadequacy of expression, or accept the intention?

But I think the wisest thing he said this weekend rings true for everyone.

"I miss my Mom."