When our oldest daughter was born, my husband and I thought we were ready for anything, and everything, there was to know about raising girls and – though, I still don’t understand how it can be almost 14 years, already – today, I can say that I am truly certain of only one thing.
[cracks knuckles and striking a defensive pose]
That if her father ever does decide to allow her to date, before her 21st birthday, Thing One is lucky!
"Please, please, please…Momma…you can NOT tell Daddy!"
Here’s the thing – being raised in a very strict household and by European parents, who were accustomed to their children’s unquestioning faith in their decisions, no matter how medieval – I swore, that my kids would NEVER be afraid to talk to their mother, or father, about anything.
I was wrong.
"OKAY…relax, already…I won’t tell him!"
[slams front door and runs straight for the phone]
"What happened?"
I doubt that her sister – she’s nearly 12 – will be getting much dating advice, either.
"Oh, let’s just say that she never realized shopping for school supplies could be sooooo exciting."
Honestly, could her 8th grade teachers have handed out their supply lists…in a more timely fashion…or, at the very least…at the same time? There’s another list coming home, tomorrow and perhaps one more, by Monday. I hope.
But, that’s me and NOT what my daughter’s excited about.
"What do you mean?"
It was obvious, judging by my off-beat smile – you know, the one that screams LET’S NOT GO THERE – I was NOT in the mood to be any less cryptic, okay.
"Never mind, you don’t have to tell me."
She ran after her sister, instead.
"Do I even want to know?"
My poor husband – he sees, as well as I do, how quickly they’re growing and already knows how we’ve become an embarrassment to our children – he should be scared.
"Our baby just got hit on at the drug store!"
[eyes go wide]
"By who?"
And I bit my lower lip to keep from screaming.
"By the kid behind the counter with the GIANT hicky on his neck!"
…to be continued