After our New Years’ Eve play date, Laylee came up and showed me the beautiful heart our friends’ young son, her kindergarten classmate, had drawn for her. Then she started rehearsing lines from I know not what.
Laylee: Mom. Look what Joseph made me.
Me: Wow. That’s really friendly.
Laylee (dreamily): I’ve been thinking about it all night and I think I’m in love with him.
Me: Hmmm. That’s nice.
Laylee: I’m pretty sure he’s the man I’m going to marry.
Me: Well, you’ve got a long time before you have to decide that.
Laylee: I’m pretty sure.
So I think the conversation is over but after we get home, she approaches me with that same dreamy spaced-out look and says, “Mom, I’ve decided. The next time I see Joseph, I’m going to kiss him on the lips.”
So here I start fumbling, picturing the fiasco if she really does attempt a predatory make-out session during recess or at church, “You know, kissing on the lips is kind of a thing for big people to do.”
Upon hearing this, Magoo piped up, “I will kiss you.” And walked over and gave me a big kiss on the lips. Great timing Bud. Way to help me prove my point.
So again we hear from Laylee, “I just can’t imagine falling in love with anyone else.”
Ah me. Young love. I have several journals filled with such nonsense so it shouldn’t freak me out too badly. However I’m pretty sure I didn’t start that young. I know I was at least old enough to write by myself before I considered stealing the lip virtue of any young gentleman friend.
Later that night when I was standing in the glare of a squad car spotlight trying to explain that I didn’t know fireworks were illegal in our town on New Year’s Eve, my head was filled with visions of a special lock-down for romantically-advanced little girls. It looked something like a super-sized life pod, with a lock on the outside and plenty of face time with mama. It looked something like our house, actually.