Broken hearted

Our middle son, who will turn four on Halloween, is quickly resurfacing from the depths of the terrible twos (and threes). He is silly, mischievous, and sweet-hearted at his very core. Every now and then, I’ll find him sitting on the couch, his bed, or his favorite bar stool: head hung low, mournful look monopolizing his face, sadness emanating from his very pores. Two mornings ago was one such occasion…
"Honey, what’s the matter? Why do you look so sad?" I inquired.
(big sigh) "It’s just that, my heart is broken," he replied.
(scooping him into my arms) "Why is your heart broken?"
(looking up at me with hang-dog eyes) "Because I love real dinosaurs sooo much, and I just miss them. That’s why my heart is broken."

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