Yesterday, David wasn’t happy when I told him his favorite shorts were too small. He didn’t want to wear them; he just wanted to put them in his drawer. (If I had known beforehand it was a big deal, I would have let him put them away, and taken them out later)

Anyway, he says, “mommy” in a whiny voice, then quietly slips off to his room, hops in bed with his paci and blanket (no, I haven’t taken away the pacifiers yet). Now, I knew he was mopey, and that’s not a good thing (even though it’s tempting to let him stay there, since he’s not making a mess or fighting with his sister). So I called him back and held him for awhile. The problem is, I wanted to help him– not just comfort him.

And I couldn’t think of a single spiritual thing to say.