Their boy was on the select soccer team last year. He played on the B team. Youngest did rec soccer last year, meaning he bought into the fact that, as a third child, we didn't love him enough to go to the time, commitment and expense of letting him play on a select team.
We let him try out this year. He's good. Really good.
Two weeks ago, the mom of his BFF called me and said she'd told the coach that she wouldn't have her boy play on the A team -- assuming he made the A team this year -- unless the boy who plays as well if not better than their boy made the A team as well. She was, of course, talking about Youngest. She was adamant. It was a package deal or no deal.
Her boy got called up to the A team late last night. They have until 7 p.m. to signify that he's in. Or he's out.
In no uncertain terms, she told him her boy is out.
Unless Youngest gets chosen as well.
If that doesn't tell you all you need to know about the extremely strong friendship my boy has, I don't know what would.
And if that doesn't tell you how much I adore the parents of my Youngest's BFF, I don't know what would.