“Yep, they do.”
“Okay,” I say, preparing to back out. “You have your shoes?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re putting them on and tying them tightly?”
“Yep.”
“You have your backpack?”
“The thing weighs at least a billion pounds, so I don’t think I could forget it.”
“Yeah, well, once you give Mrs. Crenshaw your supplies, it’ll be empty again except for a folder or two.”
I glance at him in the rearview mirror as we head for the school complex—a large plot a few miles north of downtown Clayton; the complex houses the adjoined middle and high school, the elementary school, the New Oxford Public Library, and the county police station, along with the various athletic fields.
“And do you have your positive attitude and eagerness to learn?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, Mama.”
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man—I’ll pick ’em up and roll them right back at you.”
He just snorts. “That’s dumb.”
“Mom jokes, kiddo. Get used to them.”
We pull up to the elementary school as the last of the drop-off line of cars pulls through. I pull to a stop at the front of the line, put the car in park, and get out. Aiden is already out and jogging for the door, backpack bouncing heavily.
“Um, excuse me, mister!” I call out. “Hugs and kisses and first-day photos!”
He stops, hangs his head, turns around with an elaborate show of drama, and drags his feet back to me. “I’m gonna be late, Mama!”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Yours?” he says, grinning, eyes twinkling mischievously.
I laugh, kneeling down and hauling him in for a tight hug, giving him a truly embarrassing number of kisses, until he squirms and writhes away.
“Okay, pose for the first day of third-grade photo!”
“Mom!” he huffs. “There’s no time for photos! The bell’s gonna ring!”
“There’s always time for photos.”
He poses, giving me a cheesy grin and two thumbs-up, and I snap several photos.
“Okay, now flash me a three on both hands like gang signs,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what gang signs are, but they sound stupid.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right, but it’ll be funny. Just hold up three on both hands and look tough.”
He does the pose as requested, and then comes over. “Can I see?”
I show him the photos, and he picks the ones he likes best—which is our deal whenever I want to post photos of him on social media: he gets input on which photo, and veto power if he really hates it.
I smack him on the butt. “Now go! I love you! Have a great first day, okay?”
