infinity

liam loves to quantify things. if we pass a busy parking lot, he wants to know how many cars are parked there. when he notices a tree becoming bare during this fall season, he asks how many leaves it's already lost. he's curious about the same things most children are: how many stars are in the sky? how many waves are in the ocean? and, the age-old question that's been asked of parents for generations: how much do you love me? of course, you can't quantify love. but i felt compelled to try. i got out the magna-doodle and drew a sideways 8, and then attempted to explain what infinity means. as abstract as this concept is, even for adults, i'm starting to think that a little bit has sunk in with him. sadly, death is weighing heavily on my mind these days. a good friend of mine's father is in the final stages of pancreatic cancer. another friend of mine's teenage son committed suicide last thursday. whenever i feel the tears beginning to well up in my eyes -- which is often -- i hug my children tighter. i'm reminded of what an amazingly miraculous gift life is, and how precious my family is to me. i find myself kissing their blond heads even more than normal and repeating several times a day, "you are the world to me. you are wonderful. you are amazing. i love you more than you can possibly know." liam looked up at me yesterday as i said this yet again to him, and replied, "i know, mommy. you love me infinity times infinity." he grinned. "you love me infinity squared." and i do.