"Mom, do you want to see something cool I can do on the backyard swing?"

From the back door came the cold little voice, breathless with the fall air and the exertion of a newfound trick. I knew if I could see him his cheeks would be rosy, his hands would be grubby, and he would likely be holding a stick or a spade or a digging machine in the hand that wasn't still clasping the doorknob.

Just popping in from a lovely day outside to see if his mom wanted to come see him "do something cool on the backyard swing."

Fully expecting that I would.

Expecting my delight.

Unashamedly asking for it.

Knowing it would come, because he was my child, and I was his mother. ...continue reading →