It's okaaaaaay, he calls out. I really like juggling.
I am trying hard to focus on today, but last year keeps creeping in. I think that was one of the hardest days of my life. And I am much more unresolved than I like to admit. None of it makes sense; I miss him. I want to send an email, but will abstain.
Instead, I am focusing on getting my son to his dad's in a little bit, then going to Luke's. He's cooking, or as Norma said, he's warming. See, cooking a fancy dinner to him is apparently green beans, yams, corn, gravy, and cranberry sauce from cans, plus Stove Top from a box. At least he is cooking a turkey. I talked him out of the canned ham a few weeks ago.
His kids are here: four and seven. The youngest one is whiny, with both of his parents complaining, but I think it's his age and he's cute enough and affectionate enough to get away with it. The older one is literally dark and broody - at age seven. I told Luke the first day that I've never seen a first grader act like a teenager before. The boy reminds me of L, which gives me the heebie jeebies.
Nothing's perfect. Sigh.
But I am so very thankful for this airplane-building, dinosaur-excavating, GI Joe-playing, juggling, clowning, kissing boy of mine. It's going to be hard giving him up for two days.