Yesterday when Jameson woke up from his nap, he surprised me by letting me scoop him up, lanky legs and all, and hold him “like a baby” for a few minutes. His sweet little face rested on my shoulder, and I told him how special he is. Then I started telling him about how God made him, and before Mama or Daddy had ever seen him, God already had made his eyes and ears and chin and cheeks. (This made him quite happy.)

I continued:

“And God knew about all of your birthdays…knew that you would love Uncle Merrick…knew that you would love going to the Hometown Cafe for hotdogs…”

I went on and on, telling him that even the days we don’t know yet are already planned by God.

He finally piped up:

“And you and me walk down to eat hotdogs. Just us.” [“Us” is pronounced “Hus”, which is ridiculously cute.]

I was a bit confused, since I couldn’t remember ever having taken him out for a hotdog.

“Buddy, is that something that already happened, or something you would like to have happen someday?”

“Someday! You and me eat hotdogs, just us. God knows it, Mom!”

That clever kid. How on earth am I going to get out of that one??