Early one evening last week, the Fiddle family found themselves at the local Sam’s Club.
Because we really know how to party.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of sampling opportunities.
There went dinner plans.
We divided up the list, and each parent headed in a different direction. At one point, I ended up with Jensen alone because he had earned the right to go visit the vacuum aisle. On account of his good behavior.
You heard me right. Jensen had good behavior. In a grocery warehouse. And the earth did not fall off its axis.
I looked down at my boy skipping beside me, his Dennis the Menace hair bouncing as he landed. I said to him, “Hold my hand, like we’re on a date.”
He looked up at me and grinned, taking my hand. We walked along a little while longer, hand in hand, and I stated, “Jensen, you’re my boy.”
He looked up and grinned a toothy smile at me once more, “AND YOU’RE MY MOMMY!” (Because in Jensen speak, everything is in all caps.)
And my heart burst out of my flannel button down, right there in produce.
Later in the car, Fiddledaddy relayed to me that while he and Jensen were waiting on the women folk to finish, they were sitting side by side on a bench and Jensen said to him, “Daddy, hold my hand like we’re on a date.”
No doubt causing his daddy’s heart to swell up in his chest.
He’s a heart breaker, my boy.