12 is the new 22

Yeah, that’s right. Football & Espresso.

Meet Henry. He’s twelve and a half years old going on twenty-two. He plays travel baseball, shares my love of Starbucks Iced Salted Caramel Mocha Lattes, watches my kids, entertains my preposterous ideas and conversations, ensures men aren’t checking out my Mother and I while out in public and eats like he hasn’t been feed in days. Every. Single. Meal!

In fact, Henry likes to know what is for dinner before we’ve eaten breakfast. For real? I’m not even done cooking cheesy scrambled eggs and bacon and the kid is inquiring about dinner. Did you forget about lunch, buddy? Or is it just not that important to you? It’s ok, I don’t get too excited over turkey sandwiches, either.

Since when did 12 year old boys begin acting older than grown men? H likes to remind me to drive carefully and eat before enjoying a glass (ok, or three) of wine. He encourages my Mom to workout and have an awesome productive day. His humor is on our (mine and Yaya’s – side note: you’ll meet Yaya soon) level. The kid is just all around amazing. After all, he is my brother. They say give credit where credit is due. Done. I’ll take it!

I thought you should meet him, as he’ll be hanging around here quite a bit.

Xoxo,

The Momēak

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