The other night, unexpectedly, Younger stayed with his grandparents. When he arrived home late the next night, I hollered at him from my perch on my bed as he ran upstairs.
“Younger! I missed you!”
“Missed you, too, Mom,” he replied, easily.
But when he hit the top of the stairs, he turned to circle towards his own bedroom.
“Younger,” I yelled in dismay.
“Just a minute, Mom. I have to plug in my phone.” Then he added as an afterthought, “Love you, Mom.”
“You do not. You love your phone, not me. Otherwise, I would get a hug before your phone got power.”
“My phone is dying, Mom,” he hollered back at me. “You’re not.”
“I might be,” I cried dramatically. “You don’t know.”
He eventually presented himself for his hug, unfazed by my pouts.
So did his phone.
And, if you are wondering, so did Younger.