My boy is complex. The testosterone surges.
He orchestrates battles. Everyone must have a weapon, and some, an extra head.
He will take.. you.. out.
But then, he arranges pillows and blankets while Riley is doing her homework. He knows she is stressed, so he prepares for a nice meditation by the Christmas tree. The photo below is actually after the meditation. We’d messed up his perfectly set up blankets by then.
Note the puffy eyes on the girl. She’d been crying. Even still, in two seconds he can have her laughing. She adores him. He adores this up the nose, toothless jack-o-lantern shot of himself. He adores not ever looking when I try to take a picture. I adore digital cameras. Mine makes me a nicer person. He’s lucky I have one and can delete, delete, delete, every photo he messes up by wiggling, or turning his head, or sometimes dropping entirely out of the frame.
“You’re a good boy Seth.”
“You’re a good mom.”
I adore him.