You know me and my legal addictive stimulants...I couldn't pass this contest up over at Scribbit. Because FREE COFFEE, PEOPLE!!! Thanks for letting me recycle. I'm such a girl for coffee.
It has slowly come upon us, the way darkness creeps up on the day. Like the way you notice, five minutes after the baby comes into the room, that he has filled his pants. The way a blonde gets a joke.
Miss O has discovered... GASP!!!! ... boys.
I know that kids these days are getting older sooner. All you mathematical geniuses out there can keep your mathematical factoids to yourself here, I'm SOOOOO not talking numbers. But for Pete's sake and crying out loud, the child is five. And almost a half. She would have you know that, because it's Important Information.
It started in the three year-old preschool class with Jack C. He is the nicest boy. True. He is __________ (standard four year-old person's compliment to another four year-old, you fill in the blank). Also probably true. And for the record, that kid has the awesomest hair evah. I'm going to marry Jack C.
HELL'S to the NO, BATGIRL!
There will be no MARRYING! There will be no BOYS!!! WHAT THE HECK are you thinking? That you will be GROWING UP or something?
Good God Almighty, why isn't this child still fourteen months old? HOW DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN, MISTER GOD?
But I digress.
We recently made a stop at the home of a Lovely Lady I know, so that The Mister could give Manly Advice About Fixing Up The Home. Naturally we sent the children out to the back yard for a nice game of Run Like Crazies and Scream Yourself Hoarse.
Blah, blah, blah...men talking about things like solder (which is pronounced sodder, fyi, I know, The Dayton Time is also known as Handy Information Time), and plaster and lath, and copper plumbing... YAWN.
The Mister eventually tore himself away from all this terribly exciting, umm, yawning, and called for the team to get in the car. I know it seems like I am changing the subject here, but just stick with me.
Miss O came dancing down the driveway, blushing like a Georgia Peach, and whispered into her Daddy's ear, I just kissed a boy.
The Mister's eyes got big and he grinned like, well, I'm not really sure like what, I've never actually seen that exact expression on his face before. He finally recovered enough to help buckle the team into their restraints (it sounds so much more serious than car seats, doesn't it?), and we got the heck out of Dodge.
We like Dodge, we swear, but sometimes when your fourteen month old five year-old is on a kissing spree, you just need to run away fast.
Miss O, which boy did you kiss?
A nice one. He's twelve.
(Oh Lord. Please don't make me have the Easy conversation with my five year-old daughter. Thankyouverymuch and amen. By the way, the weather's been awesome and my garden is doing great, so thanks for that too. You rock.)
Miss O, it is really important for you to only kiss boys who are very special to you. You can't be running around kissing just anybody. You need to at least know his name (so we can beat him later, ha!)
His name is Mike.
Awesome. Can I just say I have kissed on a Mike and it did not go all that well? I mean, the kissing was fine, but he just wanted to Get In My Pants and he was cute and all but you just can't have boys In Your Pants At Sixteen, OR FIVE POINT FIVE. And I'll give that Mike some credit, because he kissed me A FREAKING LOT in order to Get In My Pants, and for the record his efforts produced nothing but blueberries, and he was only three years older (at that time) than the Dirty Twelve Year-Old Mike that my baby was kissing on.
That is not to say there was The Getting In Of Pants, or any sort of Making Out Nonsense, but OH DEAR LORD, THERE WILL BE!!!!
That whole breathing deeply thing is for the birds. Well, look at the clock, it's time for booze. Because what else can you do when your baby is kissing boys?