The wild one. Our second child. The bruiser of the family.
He whizzes through the kitchen, a blur of color - orange sport shirt, blue pants and red Marshall Paw Patrol socks that he insisted on wearing this morning. I stand at the counter, responding to as many emails as I can in the 5 minutes it will take for him to get out of control.
His giggle tickles the air as he jumps, twirls, dances, leapfrogs through the living room. His body thumps onto the stairs.
“Ne-ne!” Adam calls. “Ne-ne, tome on!” Nathan ignores him, choosing to stay in the kitchen soaking in the Frozen II soundtrack (thanks to our library streaming services).
Up again, hopping, then galloping down the hallway. He bursts into the kitchen again.
“Ne-ne!” he sings. He bumps into Nathan, who continues to ignore Adam.
He disappears into the dining room. Off for another lap. I hit send and open another email.
“Ne-ne! I’m toming!”
And he is. Hurtling down the hallway. His footsteps have picked up pace, slamming onto the floor. His body careens around the corner, and he launches his body at Nathan.
“Woah!” I step in just in time to catch a now airborne Adam. He bursts into a bundle of laughter and struggles to escape, undoubtedly wanted to unleash himself on Nathan.
“Let’s go mister. How about some books?” I ask.
“Read! Me read books. Ne-ne tome!” Adam calls over his shoulder.
Off we go to read books, my email left open, awaiting the next 5 minutes of uninterrupted calm.