Tucked between the layers of sand, dirt, mud, and sweat.
Hidden deep down where he might forget, but you never would.
Stashed in the corners of a conversation dominated by a whole lot of “no.”
Jammed into his gym bag, under sweaty T-shirts and knee pads.
Cluttered into the corner next to the cleats.
Hunched on the sofa in the midnight-should-have-been-home-by-now hour.
Resting in the rhythm of his safe-in-bed breathing.
Are these moments.
I’m over at the MOB Society for Mothers of Boys (and really anyone else who juggles the occasional crazy).