I think to myself "here's my boy." The ensemble is complete. He's got on his coon skin cap with a matching vest, his chaps, the belt with a real leather holster from his Papi Alejandro, and an authentic looking plastic pistol. I see a skinned up knee through a hole in his jeans. His other knee is green from the tough work of a child determined to put grass stains on every piece of clothing he owns.
All that boy needs now is a horse.
I turn and look at my little mountain man. "Howdy."
His grin widens.
"I'm gonna eat you up, mountain boy," I say hungrily.
"Aaawww mom! Stop it!"
I put on a pouty face. "Just one little 'bite'?"
Six-year-old Noah rolls his eyes and lets out a long and deep sigh. Huffing and puffing, he steps toward me to allow me one little "bite." Greedily, I rub my hands together and laugh a happy "Hehehehehe." My right hand cups his chin and my left hand crowns the top of his furry capped head. I smack his pink round cheek with a heavy kiss. "MMMMWWWAAA!"
Noah immediately wipes the kiss off with a "Yuck!" But, he is smiling.
Suddenly, he whips out his pistol, aims at the flowers in the vase, with one eye closed he clicks his gun and yells "Bam!" Then he is off - his bare feet jumping into cowboy boots that are three sizes too big - running to catch his "horse."
He reaches back to align the seat of the hand-me-down-pink-schwinn from his sister. He talks gently to his "horse." They've got some 'rustling' to do. His head and shoulders bend low into the handlebars. His feet pedal with fury. The tail of his cap is flying in the wind behind him. There he goes, riding off into the sunset. My yummy boy.
Don't you want to "eat him up" too?