Baxter, Lyle and I were in the boys’ room one recent morning, getting them dressed for school.
I can’t remember how the topic came around to marriage, but I jokingly asked Lyle who he thinks he might marry someday. He didn’t know how to answer this ridiculous question so instead focused on the fact that it would mean he could “be a fiance”, an idea with which he is hilariously obsessed.
I asked Baxter if he remembered who he wanted to marry at age 3. He remembered, if only because we love the story so much. “You?” he asked, laughing. “Yes, me! And you used to cry all the time about the fact that I was already married!” He cracked up at this. (It really was funny: oh, the dramatic sobs at the dinner table!)
Lyle laughed, too. “I can’t marry Mommy!” he joked.
“No, you can’t, Lyle!” squealed Baxter. “And neither could I!”
“And anyway,” he continued sagely, turning towards me, “what I didn’t even know then is that you’ll already be DEAD when I’m getting married!”
God, how I used to love that kid.