the arithmetic of love

Andy, our youngest, graduated from pre-school this week. He also spent a couple of hours with his class and teacher for next year. On the way home, I asked him how it went.

"Miss M is weeeally nice. I love her. She is the best teacher ever in the whole world."

"That's great, honey!"

"I wish she was my mummy."

Stunned silence. "Really?"

"Yes. Because I love you best of everybody in the whole world. And I like her a bit at school, and that would count too."

Ah, the arithmetic of love.

At this point I'm curious - and giggling - so I have to test this theory. "Who would you rather be your mummy, me or Miss M?"

"Miss M!"

"Who would you rather be your teacher, Miss M or me?"

"You!"

Oh. I guess that's okay then.

Now he's reassuring me, with the kind of bear-hug-to-the-leg that makes you fall over your own feet: "Mummy, I have to hug you all the time because I love you too much!"

I love that he loves his new teacher, and I love even more that he loves me.