I knew it would happen eventually. I just wasn’t prepared for it to happen so soon. Of course I wouldn’t be the only girl in his life forever. Dammit, I should have kept him inside today. I let my son out of my sight at my in-laws for two minutes, and in that time, he caught a glimpse of the home wrecker neighbor girl.
I get it, she is adorable with her wild blonde hair, the fact that she is slightly older than him is intriguing, and she has a bit of a rebellious side never wearing shoes and refusing to wear a helmet. Apparently the boy has a type.
He has tons of friends that are girls, and I usually have to remind him to not play so rough. Girls don’t like to wrestle. Don’t throw dirt on girls. Girls don’t appreciate headlocks. But the silly grin plastered on his face when she crossed the yard told me this wasn’t the normal playmate.
When I saw this shoeless gal stroll up to my boy, I was not prepared for what would unfold before my eyes. Or at the very least, if I did have to prepare myself, I hoped he would hold off on this behavior until middle school when I could ignore it or hide in the kitchen drinking wine straight out of the bottle.
It started with Monkey laughing a little too loud at her jokes, agreeing to play games he usually doesn’t like to play, and attempting to put on her brother’s roller blades because she wanted to roller blade. Do kids even roller blade anymore you ask? Apparently they do, and I had to pull Monkey out of a pair before he fell and broke his neck.
After I filled the water table for the third time, I banned him from tipping it over again, but she giggled and laughed when he Hulked out on the table tossing it to the side and spilling the contents down the deck. Apparently her siren call was too powerful and the water went soaring across my feet in defiance. Now I see your game, sir. I vaguely remember your father pulling the same stunts, but his may have involved beer and a funnel. Different tools, same effect.
Then as if he was staring in his own version of Jackass, the boy grabbed his little red bike and started peddling it down a grassy hill. He yelled to get her attention just before he “crashed” on the bike. His dramatic “fall” was followed up by rolling down the rest of this hill and laying at the bottom for a while. Just enough time for her to come running to see if he was OK.
When she asked me “Can Monkey come play in my house?” I didn’t tell her “NO!” too forcefully because I want to shelter my boy or I have a strange obsession with my son (maybe a little), but it was because after watching his “moves” and him work his “game” I needed to save that kid from him own devices. Plus it was dinnertime.
He has plenty of years to have crushes, but I CANNOT, Dear LORD, I CANNOT handle it now. I’m not sure I can ever really handle it. So until I am ready, the only wild haired blonde he needs is his life is his Mamma. Wow! If that isn’t a phrase that says this kid will need therapy, I don’t know what is.
Screw it, I’ll pay for his therapy I’m sticking to my guns.