My sweet boy Ezra Star (6.5) jumped onto my lap today, throwing his little arms around my neck, and apparently milking the Oedipal Phase for all it’s worth, announced: “You know, Mama? We can’t really get married to each other. Even if we wanted. Because you are 41, and I am 6 1/2. And it’s just NOT appropriate.”

I burst into giggles and kissed him on both delicious cheeks: “No? That wouldn’t be appropriate?” He laughed too: “No! Even though we love each other so much. We can’t marry each other. Mothers and sons can’t.”

I sighed, loudly, with mock heartbreak: “Oh, well. Ok then.” His eyes sparkled, splashing love everywhere. Then I said: “But you can always be my Beloved, right?” He nodded, emphatically, squeezing me: “Yes. We can always be Beloveds. And when I’m a man I can even carry you around if you wanted.”

This made me laugh again: “Carry me around?” He nodded, considering: “Well, I’ll be really tall by then. And have really strong muscles. And you might get tired of walking, sometimes.” Laughing, I said: “Yes, I might be pretty tired by then. I’m glad you’ll be there to carry me, my Love.”

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