He was supposed to be asleep. 10:30pm. Ski school in the morning after a busy week. His older brothers had been out for over an hour.
“Mom,” he said, dragging his tired little body into the dining room. “I’m sad.”
He is not one to hide his feelings.
So at 10:30, when he should have been sleeping, we snuggled into my bed and had a long talk. “Sometimes my friends are my friends. And sometimes they aren’t.”
With three boys, I have learned that such conversations always end up at recess football. Who did, or did not, pick him for their team that day.
“They are all your friends,” I said. “They love you.”
“But sometimes they are nice to me, and sometimes they aren’t. They act like I’m not their friend… like in football today…”
“Well, is there anyone who you always trust to be nice no matter what?”
“Then that’s who we need to invite over to play as soon as we can.”
He smiled and fell immediately to sleep.