How Precious It Is ...

"Come on, Buddy," I sighed, "It's time to go upstairs."

I balanced my baby on one hip, a full laundry basket on the other. I'd climbed half-way up the basement stairs before I realized my toddler was not following.

"No!" he emphatically stated, in the language universal to all two-year-olds, "I play down here!"

"No way, Buddy. You come upstairs with Mommy now."

"No! I not come!"

"If you come upstairs I'll get the Tinkertoys for you," I gently coaxed.

"No!"

"Fine," I said, "You just stay here then ... but I'm turning off the lights and going upstairs." I started trudging up the stairs, pretending to leave.

"No, Mommy, no!" I heard my other son cry from the living room, "You can't leave him down there by himself!" My preschooler came running to the basement door, panic-stricken. His bottom lip began to quiver.

"You can't leave my brother alone in the dark!"

My toddler rounded the corner and appeared at the bottom of the stairs, curious to see what all the fuss was about.

"Hi!" he called up to his big brother.

"Honey bear," I soothed in a gentle voice, "I wouldn't really leave your brother down here in the dark. I was just trying to get him to follow me up the stairs."

"Are you sure?" My son looked at me with dubious eyes, ever his brother's protector.

"Oh, sweetie," I smiled, "I love your brother very much. I would never leave him all alone."

Baby Girl gurgled happily from her perch on my right hip. The laundry basket began to slip from my grasp. I hauled myself up the final few steps.

"Hi!" my toddler called out again, "I come play now?" He carefully walked up the stairs, totally oblivious to the trauma his big brother had endured on his behalf. The two boys met in the doorway.

"We play Tinkertoys?" asked my two-year-old. My son threw his arm around his brother's shoulder, and the two best buds ran off to play.