Even Strong Boys Need Their Momma

As is the usual routine in the evening - and seems like it has been this way since I can remember - when I walk in at 5, it's like a bomb went off in my house. The dog is barking to be fed, the kids are both yelling to get my attention, grandma is trying to get out the door, the phone is ringing, the kids start fighting, dinner is calling and I'm dead on my feet.

Today, it got to me again.

As all of this was happening, our son disappeared. I straightened out our daughter, fed the dog, said goodbye to mom, ignored the phone, said "Screw it" to supper and went to find him. He was on his bed, bawling. I knelt down next to the bed and buried my head in his chest and asked what was wrong.

"I don't know, I just miss you," he wailed. If you've read the last couple of posts, you know he's under the weather, which usually has bearing on his emotions. Imagine, if you will, not feeling GOOD one SINGLE DAY of your life for SEVEN YEARS. He feels better some days than others, but his body is working so hard to just stay awake and functioning that he just feels "Okay." Not "Really OK" or "Kind of OK" - just "OK."

He cried his heart out, and I just held onto him. He went on and on about wanting to do something with me - without daddy, without his sister. He didn't want me to have to make dinner or answer the phone or feed the dog or talk to Grandma. He just wanted ME.

So we ate mac and cheese and chicken nuggets on his bed while his baby sister sat on the floor in front of us and we watched some silly show on tv. Then I whispered, "How about tomorrow or Wednesday, we go on a date? Just you and me?"

That got me a smile. It goes to prove that even tough guys - especially ones who never even wince when being poked every few weeks with IV needles - need to cry. And they are never too tough to admit when they need their momma.