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prom

The other night as Ryder and I settled into the couch for a nightcap, he asked me to go to the prom. Clearly this indicates he is watching more than his fair share of Jesse/Dog with a blog/Good Luck Charlie.

But none of that matters. He asked me, ME, to go to the prom! Of course, I said yes. He held my hand and nestled his head on my shoulder. My heart soared. It was a rare moment to share with a boy who seldom sits still, and scarcely ever hits the mute button.

“Who do you love more Mommy?” Ryder asked. “Me or Daddy?”

I suspect this was a pivotal parenting moment, one in which a better parent, a well-informed parent, would have nipped a fledgling Oedipal complex in the bud. But since I am none of the above, the question made my ears hot, and dare I say it? Blush. Yes, my 8-year-old made me blush.

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I said: You can’t measure love and affection in any reliable way. Can you love a lone star in the night sky more than any other? ‘Multiply my love by infinity, take it to the depth of forever, and you will still have barely a glimpse of what I’m talking about.’

Ryder, that’s how much I my family.

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