Slices of Sunday II

Woog is fidgeting before me with a hopeful expression on his face, first on one leg, then on the other. It is mid-afternoon and we are leaving in a while to attend a children's party. Eli is prepped and ready, squealing with excitement at this rare chance to explore the world.

Woog is not. Woog wants to stay here at my parents' house and play with his cousin, Kylot. I look at Atch helplessly. He shrugs and pockets the car keys. It is my call, apparently.

I sigh despondently. Spending family time together with my little foursome only three-fourths complete does not sit well with me. It evokes feelings of panic and foreboding and a deeply-rooted loneliness.

But my first-born is growing up and outwards, and pretty soon I am going to have to let him go and make his own way. If he wants to do a sleep-over, there are worse things than allowing him to stay at my parents' house.

I hug him and kiss him and remind him to behave, knowing deep in my bones he is going to do the opposite.

Later, back at home, I refrain from calling him half-a-dozen times like I did the first night he slept away from me. I only called once, and he promised that he had eaten and brushed his teeth and scrubbed behind his knees. And also that he loved me, and bye-bye, Mom, Manong Kylot and I are playing at the computer.

The family bed seems empty with only the three of us in it, and the night-sounds ring sadly hollow. Even when Eli cries and thrashes in his sleep, dreaming of fragments from his busy day.

In the morning I'll feel better, I try to assure myself. I wait for the daylight, but it is a long long time in coming.