He blows air out in a slow, steady stream.
“What are you doing,” Mark asks him, laughter in his voice. We are all three snuggled up in the bed. It’s Wednesday, and we’re not going anywhere. Snow, sleet, freezing rain. It’s warm under the comforter. He’s perched in the valley between our hibernating forms, watching us like an expectant little bird.
“Blowing kisses,” he says. The duh is implied.
Because we know his rules for this part of the game, we “catch” our kisses, “unwrap” them, and om-nom-nom them.
My son? Blows Hershey’s Kisses.
“Now you,” he orders. Ah, the benevolent dictator in fleecy monster-truck pajamas.
Mwah! I kiss my hand, blow the kiss towards him.
“No, mama! Not like that!”
He very slowly and deliberately blows a stream of air.
“You don’t kiss your hand first,” he explains to me, with infinite patience, as if I am the three-year old. I hear myself in his tone.
I imitate him, as does his dad.
Delighted, he “catches” both kisses, “unwraps” them gleefully, and throws his head back in joy, nomming them up.
Delicious.
Prompt #3: Describe the last thing that made you laugh really hard.
Not exactly guffaws, but it made us all giggle on a cold, snowy morning!