Sunday morning, Levi and I had it out big time. Not his finest moment as a three year old, and certainly not my finest moment as a graceful mother. After the incident and some daddy intervention, we were all calm and hugging and had each apologized.
By the time church rolled around, Levi was nothing but his sweet self. So you can understand why, then, I was astounded when he walked up to me after children's church, kissed my cheek, and in the sweetest voice ever said,
"Mommy, I hate you."
Herb (and other church people) were well within ear shot.
"Levi," I said, "do you know what hate means? We only hate bad things like....car crashes."
"And hitting?" He asked.
"Yes, hitting. We hate hitting."
"Oh, okay. Then I just hate old people."
I'm not sure where he heard hate ... Or old people for that matter. And I assumed old people meant elderly, but someone very wisely pointed out that to him old people might mean all adults. So, that was another interesting talk. This parenting thing is no joke.