His Mother's Son

We pulled away from our empty house yesterday, boxes all packed, moving truck gone and on its way to our new home in North Carolina, and drove towards the hotel where we're spending our last few days here.

I felt strangely full and simultaneously empty as we pulled out of our driveway and rounded the river that runs through our town.

A few minutes later, we made it to "the main drag". You know, the street that runs through the center of town and kind of just has everything - hotels, restaurants, shopping. In Baltimore, it's called York Road. In Morgantown, where I grew up, it's High Street. And, here in Grand Rapids, it's called 28th Street.

"I'm really gonna miss our Target", I said out loud, not meaning to really speak audibly, but just silently reminiscing about the hundreds of times me and my boys have strolled through there together.

"I'm gonna miss the car wash, Momma", my five-year old, Jack, chimed in as we passed the best invention since puff pastry - the drive-thru oil change/car wash place that is a mother of three's best friend during long, cold, Michigan winters.

I felt the tears begin to well up, again.

Then, he continued.

"Buuuut, do you know who's in North Carolina?"

(Oh, yes! Let's think on that. Aunt Anna, Uncle Zak, Nathan, Isaac. One word: FAMILY!)

"Who, buddy?", I knowingly responded.

Without hesitation, he answered, "My best friend Chick-fil-A."

I burst into laughter.

Oh, my sweet boy. You are so your mother's son.