A tear in my chicken salad.

Our friend Emma doesn't eat sandwiches. More precisely, Emma doesn't eat bread. Unless it's toasted. And since a toasted PB&J doesn't last long in a lunch box, Emma eats chicken salad on a regular basis.

And some time back, Charlie discovered that he really, really likes Emma's chicken salad, too. He had been asking me to make some for him, but since I have an aversion to Miracle Whip because it looks like mayonnaise, I subconsciously kept forgetting to buy it. But I remembered today. So, after tonight's dinner of roasted chicken, I whipped him up some chicken salad with the leftovers for his lunch tomorrow.

I called him up from the playroom to try a bite and see if it tasted like Emma's. And he was so excited that I had made him chicken salad that he hopped up and down and then threw his little skinny arms around me and said, "Thank you, Mommy!!"

Now, that doesn't really sound like a big deal unless you know that this is the very first time in 2 years, 2 months and 17 days that Charlie has ever given me a spontaneous hug. Ever. You know, one not prompted by me asking for it.

The first time he has given any affection without being asked for it first. Kinda a big deal in my book.

Yeah, I cried. Right into his chicken salad.