Live and Let Live

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.

I lived.

So did his phone.

And, if you are wondering, so did Younger.


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