“Then I guess you’ll just have to learn to play soccer or help them paint pictures, big brother,” I teased, tapping his shoulder.

He considered that possibility with great seriousness and let out a heavy, dramatic sigh that made him sound like a worn-out old man.

“That’s going to be super hard for me, Mom,” he admitted with total sincerity.

I burst out laughing and grabbed our jackets off the coat rack by the front door.

“I’m completely sure you’ll manage just fine, Austin,” I told him, handing over his windbreaker.

He zipped up his jacket and took two steps toward the open front door, then suddenly stopped right on the welcome mat.