He rubs his sleepy eyes and pulls up a stool to the kitchen counter. I ask him what kind of egg he would like this morning and he dozily replies, "Peely egg... no, melty egg, please." I smile and turn to the frying pan to make an egg for my boy that drips just right, not too squishy, not a peely egg, which is hard-boiled. I think about prayer time last night when I stroked his stubbly buzz cut and listened to his words as he began, "Dear Jesus-God-Lord..." I love this boy's terminology for things and I never correct them (although he's quite correct in his prayer address :) I want them to last and last.
A few days ago, my husband took him down to the nursery parking lot and showed him how to ride his two-wheeler, which is a "dirt bike" given by his grandparents. Terry had barely a minute holding onto the back of that seat before that boy took off at high-speed, as though he'd always known how. His face was beaming and he happily declared to me that now he can ride his mud bike :)