I was standing in line at the grocery store two days before payday, with a kid strapped to my hip and only $27 left in my account, silently pleading with the universe for a little leniency.
I only I had five more minutes of peace. No surprises, no tantrums.
Naturally, though, Owen had other ideas.
With the resolve of a man twice his age, he wriggled in my arms and reached for the candy rack. He had that same sly gleam in his eyes that I was all too familiar with, and his tiny fingers were reaching for the sour worms.
Whispering, “No, buddy,” I moved him up on my hip. “Don’t even think about it.”
With large brown eyes and an air of innocence, my son looked up at me.
With a pout, he remarked, “But they’re sour worms, Mommy,”