What is it about small children that makes them want to get as close to their parents as humanly possible?  That is, as close as they can without actually being absorbed?  As I sit here on an early Thursday morning, finishing up some wretched concept map, I am trying to simultaneously spend some quality time with the big guy (the little big guy...Patrick.)  Sitting on the couch, he's literally climbing up my side every few minutes (as he "slips," he says), to presumably ensure that every body part that can be touching me...is.  Considering that he's only about two feet shorter than me, that leaves little space for much typing, seeing the computer screen gets tricky, and, seriously, could his elbows be any sharper?  Really?

The funny thing is, I remember doing the same thing to my mom.  Affection runs in this family, I guess.  Not to mention we encourage it.  Nay, we reward it.  So I have no one to blame but myself.  And while I do enjoy the loviness, it really is getting hard to work.  I may just need to put the laptop down and snuggle this kid like he wants. 

On cue, he says, "C'mom, Mom.  Don't you want to hold me?  Won't you just love me forever?"  I don't even have to ask where that came from.  That one's got me written all over it.