Argument

Tonight I got into an argument with my two-year-old son. My wife and I are encouraging Joshua to say his personal prayers before he goes to bed, so we get him to kneel down and repeat our prompts. We try to give him as much liberty as possible—he ends up thanking the Almighty for doors, windows, walls (I’m not sure where the interior structural theme came from), giraffes, hippos, and lions. His nightly supplications often conclude with my saying, “Joshua, we don’t end out prayers with ‘in the name of Jesus Christ, *summersault* amen.’” Tonight’s prayer was painstakingly slow. It went something like this:

Me: Dear, Heavenly Father…
Joshua: Dear, Heavenly Father…
Me: (quietly) Josh, what are you thankful for?
Joshua: …Jesus Christ, amen.
Me: No, Josh. What are you thankful for?
Joshua: (assertively) Jesus Christ, amen!

Eventually I got him to squish something substantial—windows and walls, I think—between his introduction and conclusion. You see, Josh knows and understands the conventions of prayer. He realizes that when we say “amen,” it’s over; we’re done, and he gets his juice. So sometimes he rushes to the end.

After I helped Josh with his prayer, filled his sippy with juice, and tucked him in as-snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug (he insists I use this phraseology), we had our argument:

Me: I love you, Josh.
Joshua: I love you, Daddy.
Me: I love you more!
Joshua: I love you more!
Me: NO! I love you more!
Joshua: (laughing) I love you more!
Me: NO! I LOVE YOU MORE!
Joshua: (laughing uncontrollably) I love you more!
Me: I LOVE YOU MORE!
Joshua: (laughing, between deep gasps of breath) I love you more!

Ultimately, he was only repeating what I was saying; I’m not sure he was aware we were even arguing. But I think he knows I love him.