Look who’s back in to town

Tonight, my little family made our way to the airport to pick up my not-so-young man-cub. Text messages were going back and forth as we approached the airport thanks to the delayed flight coming in on time.  “I’m wearing a sweater and blue shorts.” he reports from the curbside mob, “Door 3.”  YaYa writes back, “Look for the blue car with the big black dog.”

My eyes sift through the mob of travelers as we come around the corner.  Finally, I eye a talk, dark, and handsome young man.  It’s my son, my man-cub, my BoBo — all grown up.

The anticipation of BoBo’s visit to Cali began long before his flights were booked.  It’s kinda like Santa — only better. He doesn’t just sneak down the chimney in the middle of the night to leave gifts and eat your cookies; he stays long enough to require an extra trip to the store for all the junk you normally don’t buy.  He also picks up right where he left off with wrestling his younger brother…

A few short hour later, memories of days gone past have me getting up in the middle of the night to be sure he’s okay. You know what I mean: In bed, breathing normally, and covered up.  I want to but instead, I check all the doors are locked and stop short of opening the door to his room.  Then, I go to the other room where I am sure YaYa will sleep soundly enough to not realize that I am still checking on him much the same way as it did when he was just a baby.  I turn off the ceiling fan, pull up the covers, and return to bed.