Normal stuff Mama

"Ronin? Where are you?" I look around the room and down the stairs. He is not at the front door. I know if I can hear him then all is well. He is loud. I stop and hold my breath. Autumn reached up and grabs my hand.
“Where Ronin go Mama?” Autumn asks. Her brow furrowed as if she is accusing me of losing her brother. Little does she remember that I was up here trying to get her to say goodbye for the last 10 minutes. I want to head downstairs as quickly as I can.
“Let’s go find him baby chicken.” I say.
“Okay, we go and find Ronin downstairs.” Walking down the stairs as quickly as I can with an opinioned three year old is not easy. I bend down and look through the glass door to the classrooms downstairs. I then see Ronin. I breathe again. The glass door opens and Ronin turns around.
“Come on up luv-luv!” I say. Ronin turns to the man and says goodbye and jumps across the room the glass door. He flings it open and jumps up each stairs on opposite feet. This kid is nimble. None of those awesome genes come from me.
“What were you talking about with Tyler’s dad, Ronin?” I ask.
“Normal stuff Mama (he has taken to calling me Mama as it sounds more French to him,) like days of the week, when is Saturday, what month is it, numbers. It wasn’t a high level conversation but I liked it!” Ronin says.