That class is so hard, and walking out of there feels like the greatest physical accomplishment–like Olympic yoga and I won a medal! It’s just about as relaxed as I get…that’s not really saying much.
One time my yoga high and I got in the car to drive home when my phone started pinging like crazy! Six text messages from the father of my children, who does not text me unless someone is dying or we aren’t sure who’s supposed to pick up whom, or when to shuttle them where. It’s night time, so I was obviously thinking ER…
The first one was obviously a yearbook picture of a little girl–not one I recognized. Odd. The next one was video of my daughter with her very effective mom look and wagging her no-way-I-don’t-think-so finger. I was beginning to think I’m being punked or something. The next one is a marker drawing of two hearts with big smiles, eyes, hair, arms, and shoes. It says, “You are my boyfriend.” Still not really getting it. The last text is another picture, and I felt the nail go in the coffin:
From: Mary Kate
I heart you!”
That’s it! Death yoga high gone. Some prissy first grader vixen has had little Hello Kitty nail polished nails dug into my baby. Game over. I texted back: Tell him he is grounded until he is 30!
I calmed down and put things in perspective on the way home. After all, what’s the big deal…it’s just a card, right? He was 7 at the time. It’s not like they’re picking out china patterns.
I walked into my son’s room to ask him about this young lady…He had pinned the card to the bulletin board beside his bed and sat there staring at it. INTERVENTION!!!!!
I really wasn’t sure what to do. Let it go? Find out what the hell is going on at recess? I was totally torn. So I decided to wait until I put him to bed to have a rational discussion with my very rational 7-year-old son. He beat me to it.
“Mom, if an angel shoots you in the butt with an arrow, do you have to fall in love with them?”
(Wow, didn’t see that one coming.) “Nope. Not true at all.”
Pause in the story—about three days before when I was putting him to bed, my son asked me another odd question: “Mom, does Jenna (his sister) have to be the mother of my children or can I get a different one?” Another odd question, but one I could answer: “No, it’s against the law to marry your sister, so you’ll have to find a different one. It takes a really long time–probably when you’re 30 or so–and you should find one who gets along really well with her parents and absolutely adores her daddy.” He said, “I want a nice one because I’m not putting up with a mean one!” Good plan.
So now the pieces started falling into place. Do I tell him he isn’t allowed to have a girl friend? That could backfire like it did with Romeo and Juliet’s parents. Half the town ended up dead! Do I blow it off? Also didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Something in my gut told me one should never trust a girl with two first names!
I figured it out. When I went to pick him up, my son and the infamous Hello Kitty Nails were sitting together at a table, side by side, cutting out snowflakes. OK, so maybe that’s not so bad…but I decided to totally keep an eye on that one!