The other night, just as my husband and I were settling peacefully into bed, our son ran into the room, climbed over me…
…and burrowed under the blankets between us.
“So…” he grinned with our blue quilt pulled up to his chin, “what should we talk about?”
He’s about six feet, 170 pounds. A size 13 shoe. Not many kids with their learner’s permit still snuggle. But every once in a while, we get this kind of funny, sweet moment.
So, we talk, savoring the moment. And we laugh, wondering to ourselves how it’s possible our little guy is already 15.
“Yep, I need my own laptop. Yes, I do,” said the seventh grader who is not getting his own laptop. He often mumbles it under his breath as he passes me in the kitchen, on the stairs, going to bed at night.
“Did Jeb Bush win?” asked my second grader, who chose Jeb for President after watching one of the early Republican debates. “His speech was so good and he sounds like a really nice guy. He should win.” A future political talk show host.
“One on one conversations with alcohol are my wheelhouse,” said my husband. “I’ve trained for them my whole life.”
That’s just one night.