Kicked it with Elli, Baylor, and Hudson last night, arguably my favorite team outside of my direct bloodline. Airplane, acro-yoga, freeze tag, tickle monster, Duck Duck Goose (or "Booty Goose," as our version is called) - they are by far my most active bunch, as well. It's become a familiar feeling to leave their house thanking my lucky stars that no one's been left with a concussion.
H, the youngest, was for the first time ever HAPPY to see me walk in the door. No grump. No moan. No curdled face of fought back tears as if this 3 year olds inner dialogue read "be strong. Don't cry. She's only here for 300 minutes. Mom and Dad always come back, right? You can do this, Hudson. Don't. Cry." He even let me kiss him goodnight - a move which historically has been met with a mouthful of blond curls from a swiftly turned head. SCORE!
B and I hit our milestone about three months ago when, most timidly and quite unexpectedly, he moseyed into the kitchen ensuring our privacy while his siblings watched the last few minutes of SpongeBob and I washed the nights dishes before bedtime stories. After asking me for some juice and standing at the fridge for more than a sips beat I realized he wanted more than just OJ. "Will you read me a stowree?"
DUH! "No, but just us," he clarifies, looking up at me with those Weimaraner eyes, asking if I would stay in HIS bed that night until he fell asleep the way I usually do with his older sister, Elli. "And then skwatch my back, too?" I'd be lying if I didn't tell you about the knot of tender sentiment I had to manage before it nearly made its way into my tear ducts. "Of course."
E was a charm, as always. I couldn't help but to chuckle to myself between the brisk strides of this mornings run at how fervidly concerned she's become with regards to my marital status (rather, the lack thereof). "You should get married next week," she says - my not having a boyfriend is of no consequence in her ruling. "Have you ever haaaaad a boyfriend," she interrupts as I'm reading aloud the relationships section of a Taylor Swift magazine. I pause in the sudden realization of how unreasonably shallow my love life is as compared to that of this 16-year-old-farm-girl-turned-singing-sensation's. "How old are you, again?"
"Ok, well my mom was 27 when SHE got married so there's still time." PHEW!
Side note: Do hit me up if you know of anyone...seriously.