“Mom, you’re my spaghetti sauce.”
I have no idea what that means
Or how you came up with it.
But you said it with such sincerity and gusto
(and a such a wide Joey Tribiani grin)
as I buckled your seat belt today
that I know it is a good thing.
No, it is a wonderful thing,
obviously meant with your entire 4-1/2 year old heart.
Come to think of it
you only eat the sauce.
No pasta for you.
Just two bowls of sauce every time.
It means more to me than any gift you could have bought
no matter how expensive or rare.
I guess I’m a sucker for the real things in life —
like being your spaghetti sauce.