A growing boy asked me the other day as he was reading in bed (much like his momma), “Mom, can just you and I spend some time together tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said kissing him on the head.
I’m ashamed to say…in my busyness I forgot. As did he. Or maybe he didn’t but just didn’t say anything to me.
So today I wanted to make it up to him.
“Hey…after I get the littles down for a nap how about all of us sit down and play legos together?”
The other siblings loved it. Him…not so much. He played. He made a token effort but it wasn’t the same.
Then, unexpectedly, after getting back from weeding a garden, “Hey mom, want to play a game of basketball with me?”
I dropped everything I was doing, said a thank-you prayer that the baby was asleep in his car seat and started dribbling. I’m 36. I haven’t touched a basketball since I was about 13. I HATE sports. Do you know what an act of love this was? But I saw how happy it made him. I saw his compassion with trying to give me second chances so I wouldn’t be out too soon. And…don’t tell anyone…it was fun! I may just do it again!