This morning I picked up Blake from his mid-week overnight at Casa Nova. He always seems tired on Thursdays, but today more so than usual. I tried to get him to talk about it when we got to my parents'.
"Are you tired?"
"Yeah." Disinterested sigh.
"Poor guy." I unbuckled his seatbelt.
"It doesn't matter," he returned stoically as we looked for his schoolbag.
"Mommy. It doesn't matter if I'm tired." He struggled out of the car. "What matters is that I get out of the car before you get angry." And without looking back, he slouched into the house.
The contents of this site, unless
otherwise noted, are copyright Rocketbride 1997-2009.
Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*