After helping me make cookies, Bean sat at the dining room table, enjoying the fruits of his labours* with a glass of milk. He looked over at my rings, which sat on the table where I’d put them down before shaping the cookie dough.
“Mama, you should put your earrings on!”
“You’re right, I should put my rings back on.”
As I put each one on, I told him what it was. “This is the ring your Daddy gave me when he asked me to marry him. This is the ring your Daddy gave me on the day we were married, when we became husband and wife. And he gave me this ring when we had been married for five years.”
“I wish I was married.”
“Maybe you will be married one day. Would you like to be married one day, and maybe have kids of your own?”
“I think I will be married when Alex gets married.”
“Who do you think you’d like to marry?”
“Alex is gonna be a fireman marry, and Cooper’s gonna be a ‘struction** marry, and I’m gonna be… a ammamance*** marry! And Cooper’s gonna be a police marry.”
“Okay then, sounds good.”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo! Flying chicken spaceman!!”
* labours = switching the mixer onandoffandonandoffandonandoff, not-so-sneakily sneaking chocolate chips from the bag, and asking to smell the vanilla extract.
** ‘struction = construction (of course)
*** ammamance = ambulance