Loving Little People

When the emperor brought me his collection of action figures the other day, I made the mistake of giving his favorite–Buzz Light Year–a little smooch on the space helmet.

“Good to see you, Buzzy.” I said. Affectionately.

Justus grinned. And then, after a moment of reflection, sprinted out of the room.

Seconds later he was back, thrusting the Incredible Hark into my hands.

“Hulk, glad you could make it too.” I say patting the muscle bound greeniac on the back.

Pleased with himself for expanding his mother’s social circle, Justus takes off again and this time returns with two dinosaurs–a stegosaurus and another one I can’t identify. (If only I had payed more attention during episodes of Dino Dan.)

I cluck over them for a minute, as if dinosaurs are the new puppies.

Then it’s Handy Manny. And the Fisher Price Zoo keeper. And one of the Shepherds from the Little People manger scene.

A pig on wheels (confusing).

A Chicago Cubs Mr.Potato Head (necessary?).

A round-headed Fisher Price man from the 1970’s (Confession: I bought him on Ebay in a moment of nostalgic hypnosis).

I picture my evening being sidetracked cuddling with Justus’ hundreds of toys, all of which now eye me as if I’m the welcoming girl behind the Kissing Booth.

But I keep loving on each little creature until Justus is thankfully distracted by his basketball hoop.

Because in this house, and in this family, everybody belongs.

And I’m thinking one way to say that in 20-month-old speak is by loving all your little person’s little people.