Beautiful

This morning I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor while my two year-old son brushed my hair. Espen was serious and focused as he worked long strands into a large tangle on my forehead. Then he stopped and studied my face and his work for a minute, before exclaiming: "beautiful!"

I laughed out loud. Unshowered, in my underwear and with my hair in a knotted mess, I was surely about as far from beautiful as I could get. Kids, eh?

Then saw that I had got it all wrong. For a few brief seconds I saw surprise, unhappiness and maybe a trace of hurt cross over my son's face. He had shared an idea, put his feelings into words and got laughed at for his efforts. That's when I knew that in his eyes, his hair brushing skills are unrivaled. In his eyes, clothes, make up or whether or not someone has showered doesn't matter. In his eyes, Espen has a beautiful mama.

I saw him battle his emotions for a moment. I saw him waver as one of the most important people in his world disagreed with him. Then Espen looked at me again and said decidedly: "beautiful."

And with a grateful heart, I agreed.