As of late, my trend with posts is becoming more and more off topic. Which, I don’t really think anyone minds, do they? How interesting would it be to always be beaten over the head with more inane chatter about my books, right?
So in following with my recent trend, I am going to once again post about something off-topic: my kids.
My oldest son, Eddie, will be six shortly. Since he has one of those fall birthdays, he’s one of the older kids in his Kindergarten class. Also, since my husband is unusually tall, both Eddie, and his brother, Henry, are taller than most and easily confused for being slightly older than they are.
The school my boys attend is smaller than most, and with less than 100 students across all grades, it’s not uncommon for the Pre-K and K to be playing on the playground with some of the older kids…
So one day last month I picked my boys up from school on a Friday and Eddie goes, “Mom, I don’t think I want to go to school anymore.”
“You don’t?” A million things raced through my mind. Did someone hit or kick him? Did he get in trouble with the teacher? Did someone make fun of him?
Eddie folded his arms and gave me a look my husband has so lovingly nicknamed the stink-eye (one eye shuts, his lips curl up and off to one side—usually to the side of the eye that’s shut, and it looks like he’s scowling all at the same time). “No. I don’t.”
“Well, why not?”
“Because at recess today Sally and Tiffany chased me and tried to kiss me.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. “Uh, would you like me to talk to the teacher and let her know the new girls are chasing you and trying to kiss you?”
Now he blinked at me. “New girls? It wasn’t Kelly and Courtney (the new girls who started the year late), it was Sally and Tiffany.”
“Okay, and who are Sally and Tiffany?” I’ve never heard those names before. There may be fifteen kids in Pre-K/K class. But since two of those are mine, that only leaves thirteen other names, and I’m fairly certain I haven’t heard of a Tiffany or a Sally before.
He shrugged. “They’re in an older class.”
“Oh.” That’s a little shocking. “First and second grande?”
“No. Third and fourth.”
At first, I was stunned. Then, I was rather flattered. I’ll admit it. Not being what most would consider a beauty, I was slightly impressed my son had such an effect on the older girls. (Not that I condone such behavior, but hey, at this point in my life I still look for the positive in everything.)
So fast forward to yesterday. My kids have been out of school for an entire week due to all the illness circulating in our home, and when he gets in the car to come home, he sighs. “Mom, they wanted to kiss me again.”
“Who? Sally and Tiffany?” It’s been well over a month since he’s mentioned anything about them.
“No. Laura and Gabriella.”
“Laura and Gabriella. Laura brought her baby to school today and they wanted me to play…”
Five minutes later I’d heard far more than I’d bargained for. So apparently my son has reached the age where kissing is no longer “okay”, but gross. And as if to prove my point, this morning in the car on the way to school, Thompson Square’s, “Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not?” came on the radio, soon followed by gagging noises and the words, “This is the yuckiest song ever! Why do we have to listen to songs about kissing. Yuck.”
Yep, I believe he has officially reached the age where girls have cooties. Meanwhile, my younger son continues to go around holding June’s hand every chance he gets…