I Wish My Brother Could Live with Me.

Noah and I were kicking the ball around the other day. We were talking about sports and how proud I was that he'd become such a great soccer player. 

"Just like my brother, right mommy!?" "Yes, that's right, Noah!"

"Oh mommy, I wish my brother could come live with me. Then we could play soccer together. Mommy, if I ask Santa, do you think he will bring me my brother?"


I stopped kicking the soccer ball. 


I knew these questions would come. I knew he would recognize the injustice that his brothers couldn't live with him. I just didn't think he's be so young, or so matter-of-fact in his questioning.

"Well, sweetie, your brother has his own family. They would miss each other if he came to live with us."

"Oh, well can I go see him? Can we go to the beach and eat candy and swim in the cold ocean?"

Oh Noah. Yes, my dear. I will take you to the beach and we'll invite your brother. And I'll bring some tooth-rotting candy. "Yes, but you'll have to wait until summer time for swimming."

Noah smiled at me. "How about a candy tonight? Please?"

"Of course!"

"Can I have two? One for me and one for my brother?"

"Of course!" He ended up with a handful of skittles and an devilishly sugared-up grin. I can't bring your brother home, son, but I can give you hyperglycemia if it makes the circumstances easier to swallow.