He made PBJ

It's not a big thing, really. He's almost five. He's asked a few times beforehand, and I believe in self-sufficiency.

It wasn't the sandwich, dreadfully mangled, that got to me.
It wasn't sticky grape jelly on a little hand clutching a butter knife.
It wasn't the patience he exhibited moving the jelly from the jar to the bread one small, tiny bit of jelly at a time.

It was the enthusiasm, the excitement, the smile, and the commentary.

Look mom! I'll get the Peanut Butter and Jelly! and off he went to the refrigerator.
Is this the jelly? He asks, holding up a bottle of Masala paste.
No.
But this is the Peanut Butter?
Yes, but the jelly is on the next shelf up.
Oh, this isn't jelly. I'll put this back.

Then it was his getting the stool, so he could help.
And he was talking to me about it. About how he could make his peanut butter and jelly and use the butter knife, and just spread the jelly, but it's not coming out a lot, he explained. So it was taking some time.

Just this one, dull moment did it. One small thing in a day full of small things.
My little boy and his little hands and his big enthusiasm.

And I just wanted to hug him tight, and kiss him, and say oh, my boy, but I didn't, because it was just peanut butter and jelly, and that's not what he wanted anyhow.

So I said 'good job' and ruffled his hair, and watched him as he took off with his sandwich.