This evening, our neighbor brought over an invitation to his birthday party, along with a little treat bag, which included a pack of glow bracelets like you would get at the 4th of July fireworks. The Who, naturally, was delighted and insisted that we crack into five of them at once. He happily found the darkest room in the house and put them on. When he went to bed, I hung them on his dresser drawer handles, “in case I need them,” he told me. We read ten books (yes, ten. It was a bargaining chip with a very tired boy) and then I made up my nightly story about his stuffed dog Bella (who, tonight, found herself pretending to be a superhero — Super Jumping Dog), sang his favorite bedtime song (“Hurry, Hurry” with his own invented verses) and told him I would check on him in a few minutes. “One minute,” he told me. “One, Mama. Not a few.” I closed his door and went to dry my hair and then as I came out of my room to head back down to him, I saw him standing there, in the dark hallway:
That nut. He just kills me dead with the cute.