I'm Mom's angel. I know because she tells me I am, all the time. She loves me.
Mom's a good cooker. She makes cinnamon rolls and I eat a lot of them. She tells me I have cinnamon rolls all around my belly button. Then she tickles me. I laugh. She's right. I pat my tummy. They are there alright. She makes good brownies, too. She loves me.
Mom always says, "Wrap those arms around me and squeeze me like you love me." It makes me smile and I give her a bigger hug. She kisses me on my cheek and says, "I love you, my angel." That makes me smile, too. She loves me, a lot.
Mom blesses my food for breakfast and lunch. I used to, but it's hard for me to say words now. They get stuck in my head and then in my throat, so I just let Mom do it. She blesses my food and prays for me to remember to be happy and to not fuss when people laugh or sniff. (Sometimes it annoys me so much when they do that! I stick my fingers in my ears, but I push too hard and it hurts my ears. I take my fingers out of my ears. I fuss instead.) She asks Heavenly Father to help me remember that people love me and that I should remember to love them too. Mom thanks Him for me and all my family and friends and asks Him to protect and watch over us. (I don't know what that means, but He must be doing it because she hasn't fussed at Him at all about it.) She thanks Him for everything we have. She tells Him that we are so rich, but when I ask her for a new movie or more fish, sometimes she tells me we have to wait until we get some more money. Mom is funny that way. Mom says long prayers, especially when I'm real hungry. But, she loves me so much.
I like walking on the treadmill. I walk on it for a long time. I hold on too tight, though, and it hurts my hands before I get through. I sweat a lot. It makes me shake, but I like walking, so I do it anyway. Mom smiles at me and says, "Don't shake...unless you mean it." I laugh. She's funny. She loves me a whole lot.
I have a lot of friends. Sometimes I go to lunch with them. They come to my house and play, too. I see them at Church. I like going to Church. I get to see my friends there. I like to shake hands and get hugs. I do that a lot at Church. I pick out the songs and lead the music in Priesthood. I really like doing that, but sometimes the men are noisy and I can't get up there and do it. I fuss instead. It makes me sad when that happens. Mom used to make me go to Church, but now I like to go. She gets me out of bed on Sundays and helps me get ready to go. She wants me to be in Church as much as I can. She really does love me.
I have a big family. I have a sister and three step-sisters, a brother (Christine's husband), a grandmother, a paw paw, lots of cousins, aunts and uncles, and I'm an uncle. I'm an uncle! I like to hold Simon's hand and walk with him. He likes it, too. We are buddies. Mom talks funny to him and thinks he is cute. It makes me smile when she talks to him in her silly voice. My step-dad and buddy, Ron, gives us cookies and marshmallows for a snack. Mom tells him when to quit. She doesn't want us to get sick. She loves us "a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck."
Mom wrote a poem about me a long time ago, when I was just a little boy. Christine helped her. They know me better than anybody else in the whole wide world!
What we might see . . .
Through the Eyes of Will
When you laugh, loud and long, I’m not sure what to do.
It scares me when my mind is on things, rather than on you;
Please talk slowly, clearly and calm, or I just won’t have a clue
to what is being said or done.
Instead of joining in, I’ll miss out on all the fun!
I need to see my Mom or Dad; they’ll tell me, "It’s alright.
It will get better, just stay calm. Please, try with all your might."
Oh! It’s so hard to be still! I try so hard, and I know I really should!
There are too many people; so much going on, and I’m trying to be good!
I know I am a child of God and will live with Him someday.
Could you please just teach me how to live and love,
right now, from day to day?
If it seems at times I’m nothing but a brat,
please don’t think of me like that.
Be patient, kind, and know that I do care!
It may take me a little longer, but I will get there.
Keep trying to take my hand and, in time, I’ll take yours, too.
I think that’s what the Savior would really want us to do.
And so, this is just a small glimpse of what we [might] see, through the eyes of Will, whom this Mom loves so much. Even though he seldom tells me in words, I know he loves me too, way more than much.