Your Mama Is

We have a rule here that if, when I am taking the child to the store, he should get separated from me, he should find a mommy and ask for help.

Today at the mall, he wandered off to look for toys and lost track of me. He found a mommy. She was of little help, as it turns out, but he shortly wandered back.

"I found a mommy!" he said.

"Great!" said I. "Did she help you?"

"Well," he said, "she asked me what you looked like. I said, sorta fat, with lotsa hair."

I kid you not - there were GASPS from behind me in line. I burst out laughing (what else could I do?) and got the hell out of there.

And if that's not humiliating enough, let me add that my child tells me I'm beautiful at least once a day, usually in a voice reserved for admiring fine art. "Mommy!" he will gush, "you're beeyouuuuuutiful!" Except for one day last week, when he informed me: "Mommy. I think you're a little bit ugly."

"What?" I said, surprised.

"Right here," he said, pointing to my tummy. "This part is ugly."

"That kind of hurts my feelings, sweetie," I said, giving him a hug.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mommy. Let's try that again: I love you."

***

But how, I ask, can one hold a grudge against a child who pulls down his pants during gymnastics class to show his teacher his The Incredibles underwear?