He's amused, this boy-man of mine, perhaps more with himself than me; he knows I'll never guess. He likes this power, the ingenuity to hold me hostage, to keep me waiting and wondering, the ability to make me laugh. It is his super power and he brandishes it at will with ease and gratification.
Pinching his lips into victor's smirk, he extends his arm, unclinches his fingers and reveals his secret trinket–
There are no words as I glance back and forth between the naked little baby in his hand and his ear to ear grin.
Ai yi yi…that coupled with my youngest son's proud declaration as he emerges from the bathroom later that day "…nothing but bowl, Mom!"–we're talking post-touchdown, ball-spiking Victory Dance–and I'm thinking someone, soon, is gonna revoke my mother credentials.
And with my boys in rare form I'll have little to plead my case.