“Mommy? …. I love you.” Dylan said to me randomly (as he often does) while he was putting on his pajamas. “I love you too, Kuya,” was my automatic reply.
Then I paused. I could almost hear something more behind the question. Like he was waiting for something. I turned around to face him.
“When do I love you, Dylan?” I asked. He hesitated. “Um, when I do good things?”
“Nope. I love you all the time. Even when I’m mad, and telling you the right things to do, I still love you. I love you all the time.” His eyes lit up in understanding.
“So when do I love you?” I asked him again.
Dylan smiled, a contented smile that all was right in his world. “All the time,” he answered.
I smiled back at him.