He is petulant and hard to please, wrapping himself in a quilt of surly attitude that hurts my heart when he hurls arrows of 'dat's so dumb' at my efforts.  Sometimes, I reach into my pocket, pretending to pull out invisible secrets and whip proverbial happiness across the room at him. Sometimes this warrants a giggle.  Sometimes a stomping march up the stairs.

But there are moments.  Little snapshots of grace.  Seconds of peace and sweetness before he catches himself - embarrassed - and runs back to tough - ninjas are cooler than princes.

I took him to see the movie he wanted so badly to see.  Army men and bad guys and superheroes danced across drive-in screen.  Us, in the back of grandmas van, pulling in our over-hung feet when rain poured and lightning cracked the sky beside a Marvel battle.  "Dis is da most awesome movie in da whole worwld!"  

And as credits rolled and I bent across his sleepy self to buckle him in he laid a hand on my arm.  "Tank you for bwinging me to da drwive-in, Mommy."  

Out of nowhere, this sleepy affection, and I'm smiling into the darkness and the bottoms of my track pants are wet from puddles and I feel like the best mother in the whole world.