Do not be deceived. I am of little consequence. Not a serious contender. The boy isn't blind. He knows I am just a larger, even more reckless version of himself. An over-sized peer. This is fun and good to have around, especially for getting away with stuff, or getting candy after 7 p.m., or teasing the dogs for a laugh, or learning that not every bump is a disaster, because that big bald guy never seems to notice when I fall down unless there is blood. But he knows, as every boy knows, what side of the parental unit really butters the toast. He knows who is the fearsome (meant in that kind of she-cat "what what what?1" way) don't touch my baby unless you're giving out magic dust guarantor of his remaining and ever-becoming one of the good ones. That's all you mama. And thank goodness, 'cuz I couldn't handle the pressure. So don't fret, you're a boy's mama and he's a mama's boy. That's the way it's always been, for as long as there's been boys and mamas. Now, I'm off to steal some more of the boy's Halloween candy, because I can.
1 year ago