We were so close.
I almost made it from the bookstore to the car before Mr. Almost Five Years Old realized I had indeed purchased the set of Batman books he’s had his preliterate eye on.
He peeked in the bag. Blast it.
“Oh, Mommy! You bought the Batman books?!”
“Well, yes. Yes, I did.” For your birthday, kiddo. So stop asking questions.
“Can I look at them?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do with them yet.”
As in, I’m not sure how I’ll wrap them. Or whatever else might work to make that not a complete lie.
He furrowed his brow.
“I might give them to somebody,” I explain further.
“Couldn’t you give them to me, Mommy?”
“Don’t you have a lot of books, Tyler?”
“Yes, but I really want those. I really do.”
“I need to think on it, buddy. I’m not sure.”
Except I’m totally sure. I couldn’t be more sure.
“But I love Batman, and I love books. And if I ever get tired of them, then we could give them to someone else. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll think about it.”
It’s a good thing his birthday is in 10 days. There’s no way I could withstand the puzzled chin and the questioning eyes without a finish line in sight.
“Don’t you think I could be the boy you give them to?”
“I’m not sure. I just really need to think about it.”
(I sure hope he comes undone over this surprise when he opens it on his birthday. Because otherwise, I suck.)