A late November stroll in t-shirts and jeans is far from the norm, but I'm not complaining. My son runs from door to door, studying the rotting pumpkins, the leaves, and the duck statue decked in Santa-wear. We come to the house where he lingers every summer, talking to the Precious Moments figures who live out front in the warmest months. But they're not there today. It's November, after all -- they've been tucked away for a couple months.
Instead? He meets Her. The woman I could not get him away from. Of course I was the one to introduce them. In no time, my little boy gives her a hug and a kiss, and then stands talking to her, with his arm around her shoulder. He stares into her eyes, expecting a response, but she just stands there still as can be. I'd say she gives him the cold shoulder, but it's 60 degrees out.
At just over three feet, he's a bit taller than She. And She's obviously busy with her family, but that doesn't stop my boy. In no time, he's calling her Mom, and giving her more hugs. My heart sinks, "How about a hug for your real Mom?" Yes, I had explained that She was a Mom, but sheesh.
I lure him away with promises of ice cream. (How often do we have a November 29th as nice as this?) I promise that we'll return to visit her later. Finally, he removes his hand from her shoulder and comes with me, reluctantly.
As we walk away from the nativity scene, I am glad that they've tied the baby to the creche with wire this year. Last year my son ran off with the baby Jesus. This year he's all about Mary.