The day of Scott's surgery, our 5 year old was all full of questions, opinions, and words I didn't think he knew (not swear words, be assured. He knows those, thankyouverymuch). He chattered away and insisted that Scott play Legos with him before he went to kindergarten and Scott went to the hospital. Apparently, they had all kinds of good talkin' going on because I got a full report as I helped him into his jacket.
"Dad's going to the hospital and the doctor is going to give him medicine so he will go to sleep and then the doctor is going to cut into his foot and take out the ball that's hurting him when he walks and then he's going to sew him up so he doesn't bleed anymore. Then dad's going to wake up in a different room and be a dummyhead."
"He means bobblehead," my husband clarified.
True to his dad's predictions, that's exactly what happened. Of course, Jaxon was all about making his dad feel better. First of all, he tried to help him get to the bathroom being dizzy and all. Since Jaxon is a few inches short of elf-size and Scott is just a hair taller than a giant, this was a good show until Scott insisted that I lend a shoulder.
The little elf talked all the way home from the hospital and all the way into the house, step-by-painstaking-slow-step. He brought his dad some medicine and a drink of water. He turned on the fan to help him sleep better. He offered him his best Legos. When he ran out of his helpful ideas, he sat and thought about what makes him feel better. The cat. He cornered the calico feline and carried her (another fun show to watch since he is, after all, the size of an elf) to his father, presenting her like a sacred relic. The dad was a little less than enthusiastic and may have even been short with him. Jaxon let the cat go, looked at Scott and announced that Scott needed a prayer. Go ahead and say it, Dad.
Nothing like a dose of sweet 5 year old to keep even the giant humble.