Bittersweet

I owe you all a couple of long posts, and certainly an explanation (not that there's much of one) for my long absence. But for right now, I just want to tell one quick story, without the pressure of having to write about all that has and has not been going on here. OK by you? Just for now?

Em's all-star soccer team was playing today; the team is actually not especially impressive, but Em's having a good time because she's on the team with one of her best friends, J. At today's game was J's aunt and her two cousins. N started playing with the older of the two boys, D, during half-time, and spend the entire second half of the game wandering around the woods behind the field, going off to the nearby playground, kicking a ball against the fence.

At one point, as they headed off to get some water at the water fountain, I saw D put his arm around N's waist, and my heart melted more than a little bit. (Psst. There's a little bit of a twist to this story, one that explains its title, and that last sentence? Was your foreshadowing/clue.)

As we left the park at the end of the game (they lost, 3-2, but that's two more goals than they've scored in almost every game they've played so far, so we were all in a good mood), N asked D if he wanted to play out in the street after they'd both had lunch. D's mom confirmed that they would be at J's house and would love to get together with N later on, and we parted company.

We were walking to the car when N, ebullient, said, "I have a new friend, Mommy. I'm good at making new friends, am I?"

I smiled at him and said, "Of course you are, sweetie."

But it was a bit of a sad smile. Because D? Celebrated his 3rd birthday just a few days ago. And N? Celebrated his 9th last week.

And if anything encapsulates the quirkiness that is my son, it's those two numbers--and N's complete lack of awareness of them.