Nem’s Endearments as Guardian of the Peace

I’ve neglected to repay thanks for a certain miracle, so I’m glad that the following, which so easily writes itself, reminds me that I ought to.

Every evening that she can, Nem* exchanges Eskimo and butterfly kisses with me, followed by a (rather funny) thing she calls “Smooshy Eyes,” which is to stare intently into my eyes as she smashes her nose against mine and tilts her head back and forth (and I believe she’s said her Grandma Betsy invented this, though I really wonder), and then lastly, she kisses her hands, extends them toward my heart, exhales as she flutters her fingers, and says “Twinkle Heart! Good night, I love you, sweet every color dreams, I love you!–” etc.

On several occasions as she has done this, she’s added explanations such as: “The twinkles go into your heart, and remind you to love me.”

Me, to Tia, this morning: [Something blah blah frustrated probably unnecessarily unpleasant query something, some other maybe unduly unpleasant query something.]
Nem: (mildly stern) Daddy, stop fighting. Remember: (clearly enunciated) ‘Twinkle Heart.’

I laugh.

Nem: (as in: ‘what’s funny?’) What?
Me: Okay, Nem.

I laugh more.

Nem: What?
Me: That was very good of you, Nem.
Nem: (mildly stern) Twinkle Heart.

I laugh more.

Duly and perfectly instructed, little one.


*So nicknamed, and my daughter for whom I wept for joy when I was surprised to learn that Tia would give birth to her, a girl, a little girl sent to me!–and so soon (or at this writing), Nem is six years old!

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