The Best Medicine

Some wake up eager to start the day. Early, way too early. I have two of them; I call them my morning glories. We stayed out late last night and they didn't get to bed until ten. Still, they rise with vigor and smiles and hungry stomachs...promptly at six. Why do I even hope that they'll sleep in? My other one is more like me. Yes, you know the one - image of her father, spirit of her mother. She rises later, hungry too, usually after the boy and man are gone to study and work. And unlike the morning glories, faces turned to match the bright countenance of the sun, her face looks weary as she patters down the stairs. Would it be wrong to put coffee in a sippy cup? I consider, but don't. When her mood brightens, she's like the sun warming your face when you've been inside for far too long. Her laugh is contagious, her wit unmatched, her dance moves enviable. But when she's grumpy... Today, her mood darkens after playing with the neighborhood boys outside. She comes in, feet dragging, face long. So I ask:
"Why are you sad?" No answer.
"Are you feeling left out?" "No."
"Did you get hit with the ball?" "No."
Maybe I should just ignore the foul mood then. Instead, I question on:
"Did a purple horse run off with your shoes?" She peeks at me, questions in eyes. "No."
"Do you wish you could join the circus?" "No."
"Is Daddy's onion breath making your stomach hurt?" Muffled giggle. Smile hidden by hands. "No."
"Do your eyeballs itch?" "No."
"Did you think you found money in your pocket, but were disappointed because it was only a piece of tissue?" "No."
I stop, and she glances back. "Keep guessing why I'm sad, Mom."
Our game continues, and her mood lifts quickly. Luke joins in, and struggles to think of any question that doesn't involve a poot. Boys. I feel good, and they do too, and I think, I want to laugh more often.