I Love You the Purplest
I have two sons whom I cherish. Logan is 17, and Spencer is 11 and they’re both wonderfully unique.
As different as the day is long.
There’s a sweet children’s book with tranquil watercolor illustrations titled, “I Love You the Purplest,” written by Barbara Joosse, that I still browse through from time to time. It’s a little thing, but it imparts such a big message.
During the course of the story, the author explains how a mom differentiates her love for her two boys by associating them with various colors. She loves her “blue” boy, Julian, who is quiet and introspective, wise and gentle – and that’s my Logan.
I love him the bluest when he’s pontificating about the latest space exploration technology he’s happened upon, even if I really only understand every other sentence he utters, when he’s the first to cheer on his fellow cross country teammate who’s crossing the finish line dead last, and when he sweetly smiles and then offers me his arm to hold on a snowy sidewalk.
The mom in the book also loves her “red” boy, Max, who is passionate and loud, energetic and fun – and that’s my Spencer.
I love him the reddest when he comes up with a one-liner that makes me bend over with laughter while crossing my legs, when he belts out jazz tunes on his saxophone loud enough for folks in western Iowa to jam along, and when he shares with me, tears welling up in his eyes, that he can’t fathom ever living without me and then hugs me so tightly that I fear my spleen will rupture.
Sometimes I’m asked if I have a favorite. (Frankly, mostly Spencer is doing the asking.)
The answer is an unequivocal no. (Sorry, Bud.)
My life wouldn’t be complete without either one, blue or red, so, as their mom, I am simply content to love them equally, yet differently, together; and together I love them the “purplest”.