Yesterday my older son gave me a drawing he lovingly created just for me. Unfortunately, since the moment he chose to hand it to me was when I had just noticed my youngest son’s determination to lick his fingers that he had just stuck in the un-flushed toilet, I set down the drawing and darted to my younger son. Moments later I had saved my youngest from E. coli (for now), but found my oldest in his room crying. He told me that he felt like I didn’t love him because I just set his picture down without looking at it. As a mother, this just crushes your heart, but I admit that I was a little taken aback as well. I am not one who associates gifts with “love,” so I didn’t immediately understand the amount of emphasis he had put on his gift to me, or, in the words of Joline in an article about love languages on the blog Blissfully Domestic,, I was not being very “love-lingual” with my oldest son.