Solomon just wandered into our room. Hair mussed, eyes blinking against the light. Something in each of his hands.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
He holds up the somethings and says, "Snarfer broken."
He had chewed through the end of his last snarfer (pacifier). He seemed disturbed and bemused. He wandered over next to my bed and climbed into my lap. I was trying to figure out some type of recovery move that wouldn't involve tears or therapy bills. He repeated, "Snarfer broken."
Then he tried to put the two jagged chewed rubber ends together, trying to get them to stick together. Making little sounds of exertion. I decided to take an observer approach, instead of a director approach. "Oh that is sad. Your snarfer is broken but it can't be fixed."
He just held the two ends in his hand and then made a little ah-ha noise and said, "Marley! Be right back." He ran back into their room to see if she could fix it but she was asleep. He came back and got into my lap again and I held him while he (seemed to) contemplate his situation. He thrust the pieces at me and I took them, putting them discreetly in my pocket, hidden from view.
Then I carried him back to his racecar bed and tucked him in with his yellow bear and he said "Love you too Mommy." (He always adds the "too" no matter who says it first).
To which I replied, "I love you too Solomon. Night night."