There’s an interesting thing going on between my oldest guy and myself lately. Everyday I am so grateful that he is the thriving 7-year-old that he is. So many things about him to be thankful for. Let’s see.

Has friends/socially sound. Check!

Figured out how to read. Check!

Isn’t scared of math. Check!

Well behaved (well, come on, all kids have their short comings). Check!

Growing up entirely too fast right before my eyes. Check and check!

Now, back to the interesting thing. Maybe somewhere between a week to two weeks ago (time has this magical way of melding into itself, leaving me confused and disoriented about what day it is today and what day it was a week ago!), my heart did a little flutter when Logan came out of the doors after school, spotted me up the hill and began running to me with a big smile spread across his lips!  “Oh my goodness! He is still excited to see me!” I thought, so proud and happy.

(This is what it looks like after school. It’s hard to see him, but he’s there! Right there? See? On the left side?)

Time seemed to stop as I watched my big guy run past the other kids towards me. My mind gave me images of him three and four years ago, running to me after preschool let out. When he really was so happy to see me and had missed me during the short morning hours.

I snapped out of my day dream just as Logan reached me. “Hey buddy! How was your day?” I exclaimed, spreading my arms for an embrace. But no embrace.

“Can I go play?” he asked, and before I could even answer him, he was unloading his backpack into the front of me and running past me towards the playground and his friends.

(Enter the song, “Cat’s in the Cradle,” by Harry Chapin. You know the one: The cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon, when you comin’ home dad, I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, you know we’ll have a good time then…)

I know. I know. It’s completely not that bad, I am just a full-on glutton for punishment. *Sniff* *Sniff*

Anyway. Yes. That whole after-school exchange is true and really un- exaggerated. In fact, when my sister was here last week, she didn’t believe the story at first – when I had told her that this is what has been happening lately. “Nooooo,” she said in disbelief. “Noooo.  He doesn’t do that! He’s excited to see you! I’m sure!”

Well, here’s how it went down last Friday when she accompanied Eli and me to school for the pick up. Oh, by the way, we went to the bottom of the hill to greet Logan this time – just for fun.

Bell rings.

Doors open.

Children flood out.

Eli stands as close to the door as possible to spot his big brother without being in harms way.

Eli spots Logan. Starts jumping up and down and waving.

Logan spots Eli. Starts waving as he gets closer to him.

Logan shouts, “Hi Eli!” as he picks up his brother, hugs him mightily and swings him around several times.

Logan puts Eli down and spots Auntie.

“Hi Auntie!” Logan shouts and gives her a mighty hug, too, and says, “I’m so happy to see you!”

Logan releases his hug from Auntie.

Logan turns to me.

Logan pushes his back pack into my front and says, “Can I go play?”

As he runs off up the hill, the sound in the background of this scene is of Auntie gasping! Then, “Logan! Come back here and give your mom a hug!”

It’s all rather comical, really. Just the passage of time and childhood, I’m sure. I told her to just let him go and be a kid. I know he loves me. After all, I am his mom. Always will be. He knows my sun rises and sets with him and his brother, so it’s cool. A little bit cool.

But when a real hug happens to occur, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t close my eyes, take a deep breath and relish in the brief, magical moment.