I’m playing soccer with my son. We are on opposing teams playing GET THE BALL AWAY FROM THE OTHER TEAM because when we play with fake goals, mine seems to move a lot.
We’re intense and giggling and soaking up the warm sun.
He kicks the ball off a tree and into the liriope. We both change directions to run after it. Actually, I’m running towards the ball while he’s running to me.
My son matches my pace and whispers: I love you, my sweet lady.
I slow down to look at him in his 5-year-old body, strong and fast but still off-balance enough to have grass stains, with hair a touch too long and a smile that lights up a room. And I think about all the love we have shown him for him to be able to say something so sweet to me out of the blue.
I smile and say: I love you, my sweet baby.
E lands on the ball and starts a low heheheh as I catch up.
E: My plan worked.
Me: What plan?
E: The plan to make you think I was on your team.
Me: And how did you make me think I was on your team?
E: By saying, “I love you, my sweet lady.”
HOLY CRAP! HE’S AN EVIL GENIUS.
Well, until he tries the same trick in the same game against the same opponent. Although I’d happily fall for it every time, he probably needs to expand his repertoire from complimenting me and pretending to have a house phone.