Slapping the boxes of Valentine’s Day cards on the counter, I announced to my son and daughter that it was time to get cracking.
“We are making Valentine’s Day cards this week for all our parties on Friday,” I bellowed, clueless to the fact that my two munchkins were right below me at my feet.
My son James immediately grabs his box of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cards, surveying every inch of them to make sure nothing was “too girly” or said “I love you.”
James then informs me that girls have “cooties,” and he doesn’t want to lead them on with any foolish cards that they may take the wrong way. He goes on to tell me he doesn’t have time for girlfriends, and he never will.
I grunt under my breath as he makes his way back to his military fort under the kitchen table.
I then hand over the box of Frozen cards to my little girl Elsie, who is already grinning from the assortment of heart-shaped stickers accompanying the cardboard goodness.
“I have a boyfriend,” she said, tapping her box of cards.
“A what,” I ask, trying not to choke on the V-Day chocolate I tried to secretly shove in my mouth behind her back. “A boyfriend?”
“Yep,” she said. “A boyfriend. Daddy’s your boyfriend. I have one too.”
I grab the Frozen box away from her and shove a hand full of chocolate in her hands.
“You are too young for boyfriends,” I reply.
“Gross,” James screams as he catapults a green Army man across the kitchen floor. “Besides, Daddy is not Momma’s boyfriend. We are married. It’s different.”
Elsie is clearly getting upset at this point. She has a boyfriend, and she wants the world to know.
“We play together,” she continues. “He’s my boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend...”
This rant continues through the house for about ten minutes, pausing only for a few seconds for a Barbie commercial.
I tell myself this is simple, little-girl antics. The days of boyfriends, dates and date stalking (for me and Daddy) are well into our future. We are still in the safe zone at this point.
Flash forward two hours later with my husband Jason stretched out in his recliner with a glass of sweet tea and a head full of football.
“A what,” he asked. “A boyfriend?”
James stands behind me, shaking his head.
“Well, who is he,” Jason pushes. “We’ll just see about that.”
“Oh, just forget I said anything,” I reply, shoving James back to his room of toy Jeeps and zombie guns. “It’s not the real deal. That comes later. This is just one of those little-girl ‘I got a boyfriend thing.’”
My mind immediately went back to my own childhood. My first “boyfriend” was a little boy named Tom.
He was a freckly-face, chubby cheeked boy who loved Transformers and bull riders in our first grade world of Monticello Elementary School.
I thought we were gonna get married. After all, he did give me a Ring Pop promise ring and then proposed to me on the monkey bars in front of God and all His creation.
But then a new girl moved into town. I caught Tommy presenting her with a Stage Plank cookie during recess.
And it was over, really over.
The subject of Elsie’s boyfriend was a distant memory by supper time. She never mentioned it again. She never gave it a second thought.
She had moved onto baby dolls and art sets. Boys were overrated, nothing to ‘em.
But I certainly paid attention to what little boy’s Valentine card she put that “extra effort” into tonight.
Who was going to get that extra sticker or sucker? Who will she draw that special heart for?
And then it all makes sense when I look down at her homemade card with her handprint and a heart-shaped cloud.
“That’s for Daddy,” she said, grinning.
Those little boys better shape up. They have a hard act to follow in little Elsie’s eyes.
