It was cold.
And I was so warm.
Bundled up in ample layers of fleece. My signature look as I alternately meander through and hide from winter.
“Let’s go to the Museum of Science.”
But I was so warm.
And we had just been to Boston the day before. Too much traffic and four hours in the car had left me less than inclined.
That and the fact that it required my getting dressed.
My nine- and five-year-old in happy unison: “Hooray!”
“I don’t want to go. You don’t really want to go, do you, Mom?”
But we get so few days when all of us can be together that not going was not an option.
But to him, at ten, it was.
He sees endless days stretched out in front of him.
The world still occasionally spins around and just for him.
So he said, “I’ll just stay home.”
And I said, “You’re too young to stay home for eight hours by yourself.”
I told him to make plans. If this is what he wanted, he would have to make his own arrangements.
So, he asked for his grandparents’ phone number. And he called them.
We dropped him off with a wave and a wish for a good afternoon.
And off we went. With part of us missing.
He spent the day wishing he had gone with us.
We spent the day wishing he had gone with us.
Then this morning: “I don’t want to not be with you again.”
And I said, “Then don’t.”
He hugged me and whispered, “Happy New Year.”