Meat!

Lately, Andy has been stingy with his love, declaring that he loves only Mommy, Daddy, and Alex (sometimes) but not anybody else.  He has stated, matter-of-factly, that he does not love his grandparents or aunts or uncles, and his feelings for his two baby cousins are rather lukewarm.  These are not the words of a boy who is trying to be mean, malicious, or hurtful.  This is just a three year old speaking the truth as he knows it.  The intensity of feelings one might have for the best mother on Earth and a decent enough father and a booger-ish little brother are beyond compare to those he has for the extended family on the outer rings of his little planet.

His grandfather told him a month or so ago that he loved him, and Andy blinked back at him and shook his head.  "I don't love you," he replied, seemingly confused on why the conversation needed to occur in the first place.  When pressed, Andy admitted, "I like you a lot... but I only love my family."  Later, we tried to explain family dynamics.  This was something that Chris and I thought we had down with this kid.  Grandpas are Daddies of Dads or Moms.  Grandmas are Moms, Aunts are sisters, and Uncles are brothers.  That man at the park wearing the bright pink fanny pack is likely nuts, so please stop talking to him.

Initially, I was appalled and embarrassed by Andy's rejection of love for his grandfather and the rest of the extended family, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to see the innocence, honesty, and intellect in it. Andy understands that there is a difference in how he feels about his parents versus everyone else. What he doesn't understand is how love is something that is big and grand and can encompass those with all sorts of roles in our life, even if they are not the ones who tuck us in at night or rub our back just right when we start to cry.  The notion of loving others is something that maybe we grow into; that although in our hearts, that love exists, we don't recognize all the gradations as being part of that one emotion.

Either that, or I'm just making excuses for some little brat.

I tried to have a little talk with Andy, telling him that I was pretty sure he loved his grandparents and aunts and uncles deep in his heart.  Andy denied this, stressing how much he LIKED them.  I tried a new tactic, and said, "Well, they all really love you, and it hurts their feelings that you don't say it back.  So how about next time somebody says 'I love you,' you just reply, 'Me, too.'"

This, of course, will likely be a tactic he uses with women after he starts dating.  Next week, I plan on teaching him:  It's not you, it's me and Sorry I haven't called, I've spent the last two weeks in a Mexican jail.

"Let's practice," I continued.  "Pretend I'm Grandma. 'I love you, Andy!'"

Andy was silent for a second, trying to recall what he was supposed to say.  Then he responded, "Meat."

"Oh jeez.  Not 'Meat.' It's 'Me, too!'"

Andy burst out laughing, and then it was over.  "Tell me you love me!"  he kept crying out through his giggles.  "Meat!  Meat!"

And so, I have not made much headway in the predicament of understanding love of those who do not live with us, but I have further explored my child's ridiculous sense of humor.  Now I have a three and a half year old waiting gleefully for a relative to sweetly tell him how loved he is just so he can yell back, "MEAT!"  To our extended family:  Hey, sorry about that.