The other night, at 10:30, I peeked into Youngest’s room. It was dark. I stepped in to give him a kiss good-night and stopped when I saw a glow under the covers. Could it be? Could it possibly be? Could my Youngest actually be reading in bed? I mean, I did that all the time when I was 14.
That bluish glow? Cell phone.
He was texting. At 10:30.
I reached out my hand.
"Hand it over."
"It is 10:30. Way past bedtime. Say ‘good-bye’ and give me the phone."
He turned back to his phone.
Minutes went by. He studiously ignored my loudly tapping foot.
"WHAT are you doing?"
"Just wait a second. I’m saying good-bye."
"A simple "g-n-i-t-e" would suffice."
He glared at me, finished the message and handed me the phone.
"Don’t you dare read this," he ordered me sternly as I turn to leave.
"I know you’re tempted."