Along with my son.
Tomorrow Alexander turns 25. A full quarter century old.
For the past few weeks, I've been trying to lure Alexander home with the offer of dinner, at a restaurant of his choice. But the best I can get is a promise that he'll be home on Saturday for his birthday. "You don't have to make any reservations," he tells me. "I'll probably be going out with friends."
I text him this morning at 7:47 and get his response nine hours later:
I get home from work around 8:30, and a little while later Alexander walks in, wearing a sports jacket over a dress shirt.
"Where's your coat?" I ask.
"I'll need to borrow one of yours," he replies. "When I left home this morning for work I wasn't thinking about the weather."
There is no appropriate response.
An hour later, Alexander leaves the house in my navy down coat that's a few sizes too small (but more unisex than feminine). Maybe wearing his mom's clothes will help remind him that yes, weather is important.
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