A strawberry kiss. Squishy elbows and knee flab. Lovingly tending to ourselves. Circles and tendrils. Tickling and touching. Cold hands on soft spots. Opening a door on a kid’s bedroom – seeing them sleeping quietly. The laughter in their green eyes. I asked my kid what he thinks of my next career idea and he said, “You’re good at arguing.” I laughed.
“At home or in a professional setting?”
He starred blankly. “Both.”
I love that look in my kid’s eyes when he answers something so honestly – and doesn’t have the adult filter yet to recognize what might be funny about it.
We went for crepes. As we usually do. It’s our “thing”. Or one of our things. We get the usual, he gets the breakfast crepe with no mushrooms and no béchamel sauce – so only cheese, scrambled egg, and bacon. I get the artichoke, spinach and brie – if it’s the AM, I add scrambled eggs.
We sit there, together. Sometimes not saying much. More recently though, saying more. Or just stuff anyway – having silly conversations and enjoying each others company.
He laughs more these days – and smiles fully.
where rivers are born 