Shortly before 11 pm last night, youngest Son, Interrupted announced that he wanted to run up to Barnes and Noble to pick up a book of Sherlock Holmes stories.
Did he need it for school? No, he just wanted to read ’em.
Okaaaaay. The B&N by our house was already closed, so we piled in and raced up to Tempe to get that and a copy of Grey’s Anatomy. The book of body parts, not the show.
As we marched across the parking lot, he did what he often does and held my hand. (I love this about YSI. He says that he does it because he’s worried I’m going to fall over in the parking lot.) I really appreciate that, but I was conscious that we were in the middle of College Town, where there were girls close to his own age who might see him holding hands with a woman who is old enough to be his grandmother, if you want to put a fine point on that.
So I asked him if he didn’t want to hold my hand, and said why. He said, no, he was still cool with that.
Until I started singing along with the piped in music in the complex: Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back.
To his horror, I know all the words.
I love you, kid!
© E. Stocking Evans 2014
Mom, Interrupted 