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All mothers dream of the day when their wee ones will look up at them with adoring eyes, and say, "I love you, Mommy."

Sam isn't quite there yet.

"No, Sam-bean, don't put that in your mouth," I warn him. "It's dirty."

"Dirty," Sam parrots.

"Yes! That's right! Dirty," I say, delighted.

"Dir-ty, Dir-ty, Dir-ty," Sam sings.

"Can you say Mama?" I ask.

"Dirty!"

"Ma-ma."

"Dirty," Sam says firmly.

While giving Sam a crash course in table manners, I try to explain how a fork differs from a spoon.

"With a fork, you stab your food. See? Stab," I say, demonstrating the technique with his Peter Rabbit fork and a segment of mandarin orange.

"Stab!" Sam says.

"Um . . . right," I say.

"Stab! Stab, stab, stab," Sam giggles.

"Well, yes, but . . . how about 'I love my mommy,' instead?"

"Stab!"

Posted 24 January 2005 at 08:50 AM