The Nicest Thing he Ever Said.

love you


“I love you mum”

“I love you too”

“I love you mum”

“I love you too”

“I love you mum”

Ah that’s lovely, thank you”

Sometimes I like to mix it up a bit. The monotony of replying to that statement can get to you slightly, ok a lot. Actually it’s not a statement, it’s a question. It says,

“Hi I’m here, can you see me?”

Or it’s a need, a requirement,

“Please fill me up with assurance because all my positive self belief keeps draining away”

Sometimes I have to change the reply because I wouldn’t believe my own voice, dripping with tedium and through clenched teeth,


Sometimes I think,

“You know what? Right now I’m not sure how I feel, if I try and fake it, will you be able to tell? Will you notice that at this very moment I don’t actually want to answer? Will that then make you feel even worse about yourself? Will a smile and a hair ruffle suffice?

When he first said it, and the thousand times afterwards, I was really touched. Then it dawned on me, it wasn’t what he was saying to me, it was what he expected in reply that was important.  Giving to receive, is all part of his survival strategies.

It’s like that ever so considerate question I get EVERY morning,

“Did you sleep well mum?”

How sweet I thought at first. Then, how clever, he’s worked out that when I’m tired I’m not so lovely therapeutic mummy. Survival first.

Or the giant hug I receive on pick up from Cubs, school or sports club. I know what follows, a responsible adult tentatively asking “I’m so sorry but, can I have a word?” Soften her up before the deadly blow is delivered. Survival is always on his mind.

Some Saturdays ago, after a really successful family day, Stig and I lay chatting on his bottom bunk.  He loves this, sharing and snuggling at bedtime. We talked this, that and something else, to be honest I really don’t remember. I was feeling contented, he could have been talking me through the building of some major creation in Minecraft and I would have agreed in an accommodating manner and ooohhed and arrgghhed with delight, in all the right places. I’m good like that sometimes.

As we lay there he stopped talking, I noticed that, and then sighed deeply. The type of exhalation of air, deep from the belly, that indicates the height of relaxation. As he cosied his lithe body up against mine, he said without thinking.

“I rrrreeeaaalllyyy like you mummy”

I could feel the smile across his face in the words he spoke. He had delivered the words from his heart.

We hugged, long and hard and then said our goodnights.

Downstairs I sat on the sofa and cried.

“What’s wrong Mr H asked?”

“Stig has just said the nicest thing he’s ever said to me” I replied.

14 thoughts on “The Nicest Thing he Ever Said.

  1. Mrs Family of 5

    Oh I can so so relate to this! Its an amazing feeling when they say or do something genuine isn’t, shame it’s just not more often, at least it’s not often here anyway x

  2. plumstickle

    I love this – and the post about tween-teen friendships (where is that now – can’t find it?!). I feel your pain, and have so often been there – this could have been me writing! – but those little perfect moments can and do make it all better, until the next desperate moment anyway! So glad to have made your online acquaintance. Keep your pecker up x

  3. Anne Hargreaves

    I experience the same. All 3 say the words in different ways, and with each I have had a handful of times when the connection has been there. It is indeed a special moment that helps to keep some perspective on the situation. Thanks for sharing x

  4. lindsay

    This drives me BANANAS! It seems like it’s a fairly common thing among our kids. I’m going to take your strategy and mix it up in my response, as I too have often wondered how in-genuine my 700th I love you too must sound.
    It does make those actual genuine moments all the sweeter though, thank you for sharing your special moment with all of us.


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