Seven year-old brother is massaging (very well, I might add) mother's forehead and temples on the bed. One year-old sister is doing the War Dance of Jealousy on the floor. She can see but she cannot reach. She does circles, squeals, reaches out her arms, flings them back to her sides in frustration, wails, and finally, flops to the floor in utter dejection.
Brother watches sister's frenzy. He knows that feeling all too well. When the occasion demands it, he's a master at displaying fits of heartburn himself.
So he says to his little sister, with the air of someone who's seen everything there is to be seen, "N, no matter what I do for mama, she'll always love you, OK?"