“Because your baseball cleats are way too small for your feet, young man,” I told him, pointing at his socks.

He looked down at his feet, his cheeks turning a little pink with embarrassment as he wiggled his toes.

“They still fit pretty okay, Mom, I promise,” he mumbled, his old habit of making his needs smaller popping up again.

“Austin,” I said firmly, folding my arms with a playful smirk.

“What?” he asked, grinning shyly.

“You’ve been curling your toes inside those worn-out leather cleats for two months now, and you limped the whole way to the car after Thursday’s game,” I pointed out.

“Well, maybe my big toe rubs on the front just a tiny bit,” he admitted with an embarrassed little laugh.