"PUNCH!"

"MOM! Can I see your muscle??"

That was Eva's innocent inquiry to see my (apparently) one and only muscle.

I obliged her and flexed my arm.

It made me tired.

Joshua swelled with son-ly pride, and said,

"You are strong! Are you stronger than Daddy?"

I seriously wondered for a minute if I was, and then replied, just in case I was wrong (after all, I will probably never really see how strong he is, since when we rough house, he won't play dirty...but, boy, do I...*Jeremy weeping and wailing, and me gnashing my teeth*),

"No, Daddy is stronger than me."

Josh thought for a second.

"So, he's so strong he could punch you down?"

He said "punch" like "PUNCH!" with lots of spit and extra umph-ing to the "CH" sound.

"Josh, Daddy has never hit me."

"NEVER???" He asked, unbelieving. I guess to my little man, hitting females is a matter of course to show who is boss. He doesn't seem to connect in his brain that sisters+hitting=massive amounts of timeout.

"Never."

I immediately felt a swelling of gratitude and love in my heart that my husband has never raised his hand to me in anger (or at all).

I feel like I live in a sugar cube sometimes, with how lucky and blessed I have been.

Makes me think of something I read once:

"When God handed out good lives, why did he give one to me?"