He stood there behind me, his hands rubbing the weary right from my shoulders. He’d never done that before, this boy who’d been gone for the better part of the weekend; this boy who’d spent the better part of the previous day carving the slopes on his snowboard; this boy who’d gone and grown up a little bit more in those twenty-four hours.
Does this feel good? he asks.
Crazy good.
You’re there, with your boys, and the knitting’s in your hands, the game is on the screen, and the loft is rocking like a seating section. And Nellie, too. She’s there, of course, in the middle of her people. One, two, three, four of us plus Nellie, with our phones handy for texting our fifth one all the juicy information (funny how those aviators tend to fly away).
One boy just keeps eating those chips, more and more chips, like that’s what’s for dinner. That’s okay this time. He’s watching and eating, but really he’s keeping notes like an information-recording machine. Stats that will make you spin around will surely pour out of him later.
Another boy who’s wearing full orange, keeps wiping his palms dry, you notice, and his deep voice squeal-cracks his well-timed raucous applause. He’s not one to waste a good breath, but when he needs to put one to good use, he surely does.
And that shoulder-massaging boy? Now he’s draped over your lap, shirt pulled up for his turn of bare-back tickles, which just might last until your arm falls off.
I chose this. I chose to be there. I chose to put that mountain of work and those three deadlines aside, for a few hours of this on a Sunday afternoon.
When that chip-eating boy looked over and said, We like it when you watch the game with us, it sealed the deal.
Hello Monday! Hello lovelies! I’ve so been enjoying all the email and comments you’ve sent my way in the last couple weeks! In pockets of time here and there, I’m working my way through, sending replies. If you’ve found your way here because of the article in Country Living, welcome! We’re glad to have you join us. To all of you who are nearly dying with the waiting to see the loft, I hear you, oh, I do. Thank you for grace.
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