Final score? Altanta Falcons fall to New England Patriots in overtime, 28 to 34. Ya was not happy, as he’s a former Falcon.
A chilly winter day. An hour before Ya is set to come home. A request: playground. The place is empty. It’s too cold to stay outside very long. She swings for a few minutes. Then, snagging my phone, she opens up YouTube and settles into a tunnel to watch videos.
So rarely do Ya and I go out together.
Of late, Ri is always claiming more attention because she’s younger. Now I see why my son asked me would he still be my baby after she was born. Focus seems to shift between “she who does it first and is most involved” and “she who is most dependent.” As the middle kid here, he really has it rough.
[Side note: I’m thinking I should call my own middle brother now and tell him I love him and he’s awesome– which he is, but now it’s on my mind to thank him for being the mid-kid.]
Truth be told, Ya is a special young man trying really hard to be the star of something. I didn’t notice how quickly he is growing up. His winter coat is suddenly way too small and his wrists are exposed to the biting cold. Overnight, his size 7 pants rose above his ankles (revealing the pervasive ash of chilly weather). And just yesterday, he joined me at his old school to pick up Ri. His former teachers smiled and greeted my son and three people remarked separately “you’ll be taller than your mom soon.” It hit me.
Like Rico, who never missed a chance to wrap me in an embrace, Ya craves that contact. Before bed, he wants a hug – sometimes several in succession as though he forgot we’d said goodnight.
At school, he lingers to say goodbye, though he dare not be too mushy in public. And he often begs for movie night or game night or anything we can do together. I have to savor these moments before they become memory.
We shared one brief afternoon during break in AC. We ventured into those vicious winds to walk the Boardwalk.