It all began as we were standing1 in front of the bathroom mirror, me fixing Amanda's fine, blonde hair. I was putting in the final elastic2 of a spunky pair of ponytails and finished with, I love you, Amanda. And, I love you, she replied. Oh, yeah, I taunted3. Well, I love you more. Her eyes lit up as she recognized the cue for the start of another I love you more match. Nuh-uh, she laughed, I love you the most. I love you bigger than a volcano! I countered-a favorite family phrase in these battles of love. But, Mom, I love you from here to China. A country she's learning about thanks to our new neighbors up the street.usually
We volleyed back and forth4 a few favorite lines. I love you more than peanut butter. Well, I love you more than television. I even love you more than bubble gum. It was my turn again, and I made the move that usually brings victory. Too bad chickadee. I love you bigger than the universe! On this day, however, Amanda was not going to give up. I could see she was thinking. Mom, she said in a quiet voice, I love you more than myself.
I sTOPped. Dumbfounded. Overwhelmed by her sincerity5. Here I thought that I knew more than she did. I thought I knew at least everything that she knew. But I didn't know this. My four-year-old daughter knows more about love than her twenty-eight-year-old mom. And somehow she loves me more than herself.
Christie A. Hansen
Contributing author, Chicken Soup for the Soul Photo's for Mom's
