As brave as they want to be, it takes time.

My five year old son has been begging me to ride his bike alone. Around the block. Down a park path and back. Two blocks over to see his dad at work, etc. Little by little, I've been giving in to him. We talk about Stranger Danger all of the time and I do feel that I need to let go a little once in awhile.

But I learned that it's very possible and very easy to give too much.

Yesterday was T-ball practice. We've had many, many practices. I've spent several hours already this summer, entertaining his little sister while he plays ball. And, unlike wrestling, I've never seen him making sure I'm watching or asking where I am. He's seemed very enthralled in the game and in his new friends. Halfway through practice, his sister and I trekked two blocks away to visit with his daddy. With fifteen minutes of practice left, we make our way back. And as I searched the field for Caden...not in the outfield. not in the infield. Not up to bat...my heart began to sink.

I started searching the playground, thinking that maybe some of the kids were dismissed early but he wasn't there either. A moment later, he emerged from the park restroom, holding hands with one of my new could-be friends. Tears were streaming down his face. I could see his heaving chest from halfway across the park. I jogged over to find out that he needed to use the restroom and got scared when he couldn't find me. The woman had gone looking for him after he'd been in the restroom for several minutes.

Thank God she didn't have to help him with anything in the bathroom but still, I was mortified and really felt that I just earned the Worst Mother award. After apologizing over and over again and comforting my son, we scurried home.

After a warm bath, a warm hug or ten of them, and some dinner, he was back to normal. And I'm still feeling guilty today...