So, what really becomes of the broken hearted?

My toddler has a broken heart. I broke it. So, what becomes of the broken hearted? Or rather, how did he become broken hearted?

It all started with a fit. These days it all starts with a fit. Last night, we swam. He filled a bucket with water, again and again. I gave him his standard warnings: 10 minutes! 5 minutes!

At the 5 minute mark, we started playing the underwater game. He counts us down: "One, two, free, four!" And, under we go--only to float to the top and do it all again. It's great fun.

But, as Dr. Seuss says, "Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one." And so, we rely on tomorrow for another round of the underwater game. Except when we don't. And he decides to stand on the pool steps and scream. And bite. And stomp.

I issue his choice: "You may either stop screaming now, or you will lose your tractor tomorrow." (It's John Deere. With a trailer. It's kind of awesome). He screams. And so, after pedaling the 'Deere home, he lost his 'Deere privileges.

I put it in my car--where it currently resides in the downtown parking garage. R.J. cried for an hour. Mommy broke his heart. He'll get the 'Deere back tomorrow, and he understands this. Mommy broke her own heart and had to call her mommy for assurance that this too, will pass.

So, what becomes of the broken hearted? At last inquiry, the smaller broken hearted (1) promised to be sweet; (2) said he was sorry; and (3) told me he wasn't going to throw fits. Apparently, the broken hearted heal. They grow up--just enough--not too fast (he was headed to the zoo to look for the llama, llama, red pajama today). The broken hearted still kissed me goodbye and waved to me this morning when I (and the 'Deere) departed for work this morning. The broken hearted still loves his mommy. And so, mommy's broken heart healed too.