“Five more minutes, and then it’s time to finish up your homework and have dinner,” I warned Wyatt. He looked so content sitting at the end of the sofa with his little legs tucked underneath him. His fingers were rapidly tapping the screen as he worked diligently to create a new world on his video game. The things he could create on that little device always amazed me.
“But I’m just about to slay the dragon,” he whined, never looking up from his game. His little nose crinkled into a pout at the thought of having to stop.
“Don’t even start, mister. You know the rule.” He’d been playing since we got home from school, and he’d keep playing all night if I let him.
“Okay. Five more minutes,” he answered in defeat. His shaggy brown hair dangled in front of his eyes, making me wonder how he could even see to play his game.
“Dude. I think it’s time for a haircut.”
He quickly ran his fingers through his bangs, brushing them to the side and said, “No way! This is how it’s supposed to look.” He gave me a quick glare, his dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration before he looked back down at his game. Seeing him sitting there, I couldn’t help but smile. He looked like your average eight-year-old boy with his wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, but to me, he was anything but average. I could see that Wyatt was an exceptional child, always marveling at all the wonders of the world. Every day he’d share something new he had learned, eagerly telling me every single detail of what he’d discovered. I loved hearing the excitement in his voice when he spoke, flicking his wrists at his sides as he focused on what he was saying. I had no problem admitting that my entire world was wrapped up in that little boy and there was nothing better than seeing him happy.
“How about fish sticks for dinner?” I offered.
“Nah. I want chicken nuggets.”
“Wyatt, you had those last night. You’re going to turn into a chicken nugget one of these days,” I laughed.
“That’s physically impossible, mom. Chickens are birds. People can’t turn into birds,” he fussed, shaking his head.
My child, always so literal. I smiled and said, “I know, buddy. I was just teasing. Are you set on chicken nuggets?”
“Yeah. I won’t get them tomorrow night. Dad never has them at his house,” he grumbled as he turned off his game. His brown hair fell into his face, hiding his look of disappointment. I cringed at the thought of him going to his dad’s. He’d been going to his dad’s every other Thursday for months, but it was still hard for him to transition from one house to the other. It also didn’t help that I was terrified every time he had to go stay with his dad. I tried my best to hide my concerns from him, but I could tell that he sensed something was wrong.