If you were to hang with me in my kitchen each morning, you would hear me say one of the following to my 6 year old. After, “Move out of the way of the coffee pot.”
“Um, honey, the pink and yellow stripes don’t really work with the orange floral capris.”
“Cailey, you’ve worn that same dress every day for three weeks now. Stop digging it out of the
And you most certainly would hear me say, “Cailey, brush your hair.” And every morning she disappears for a few seconds, returning with the same rat’s nest atop her sweet head.
My little fire brand is an enigma. On the one hand, she’s a tough little slingshot carrying tomboy. Turn around and she’s a prancing fairy princess. With impossible hair.
She’s shown little interest in the opposite sex. Well. Except for a brief eye batting session with the one shoed nose picker when she was 5. I was ever so hopeful that she wouldn’t take a shine to the boys for many years to come.
Because of how it will most certainly age the parents.
Ask my Dad.
I had my first crush when I was 3. I held up candy bars and taunted him with, “My David, come play with me.” His name was not David. It was Jeff. And he was an older man of 6. And yes indeed, he always came over to my side of the street.
I received my first kiss at 6. I was in the backseat of the car with a neighbor boy. Our mothers were in the front. My mom told me that she heard me say, “Ooohhh, do that again!” She looked up from the road into the rear view mirror as little Chris planted another kiss on me.
She nearly wrecked the car.
I was then placed in parochial school. Which didn’t help. During the Parent/Nun conference, my folks were informed by the Sister that I was entirely too interested in the boys.
I was engaged by the 4th grade. My “boyfriend” wadded up a piece of paper containing a dime store bumble bee ring and threw it at me during class. I responded gleefully with, “Oh, Tom, you shouldn’t have!”
I think I have good reason to worry, even if my girls only inherited a fraction of my genes.
So, a few days ago I was sitting in the garage with the door open, while my children were playing outside. A sweet little 8 year old neighbor boy was riding his bike back and forth in front of the house. The girls were writing on the driveway with the sidewalk chalk. And the giggling began.
Oh no. I know that giggling.
I got up to see that Cailey had written “I love you,” for little Tommy’s amusement. My first reaction was all, “I didn’t know you could spell that!” Then quickly dissolved into a fervent stage whisper, “Are you insane? Erase that!!!” Following was a quick impromptu speech on just being friends.
And then the other shoe dropped. She came sashaying through the garage. “What are you doing?” I called after her.
“I’m just going to go brush my hair.”