Drumming fingers on the table. Checking the clock - again. Big sigh.
Where can he be!? I was told he would be back by now. It's almost an hour and a half past his stated return time.
He went out with some friends, and now he's not back. Shall we have a mental meltdown? It's getting to the point where I'm just waiting for that phone call, or knock on the door from a police officer telling me he's been in an accident.
Angelo joins me at the table, nervously thumbing through some new art books he picked up this evening. I stop drumming my fingers enough to color another leaf for school tomorrow.
It's ironic. We are waiting for our five-year-old son to come home after being out with friends - and their mom.
OK, here's the whole story.
I had a meeting to go to this evening and Angelo ended up in a late conference at work. He couldn't make it home before I had to leave, so I called our babysitter and she agreed to take Tony while she ran some errands with her own three kids - Tony's best friends.
Her errands took longer than expected, and was late returning our beloved son to us. But he is home, is safe, and is getting into bed.
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