Last night when the girls and I came home from after school care, we had a message on our answering machine. A sweet little voice said,
"Um, hello? This is Michael, from Rose's class. I just wanted to talk to her."
My eyes like saucers, I turned to her and asked her if she gave him our telephone number. She shrugged and said, "Well, he asked for it."
And so it begins.
I dialed his phone number and gave her the phone. She walked around the house, phone to ear, as her little sister trailed behind her. I heard giggles. I heard whispering. I heard frustration at her tag-a-long sibling.
She walked in the kitchen as I was making dinner, put her hand over the receiver and said, "Mom, can you get Grace to stop following me around? I'm trying to talk here!"
Can you say 8 going on 15?
Little Michael had to go because his grandma told him to. Rose put the phone back and walked around swooning.
"Hey Rose," I asked her, "So... who is this boy?"
"Oh Mom, he's a boy in my class who has a crush on me."
"Do you like him?"
"I used to have a crush on him too," she paused, "OK, yeah I still do."
*yet another grey hair sprouts on my head*
Then... THEN!!! The little Casanova called back! Again, she wandered the house in giggles and hushed tones. Again, Grace followed her from room to room. Again, she was upset at the lack of privacy.
(Um yeah. Now she knows how Mommy feels!)
I finally put dinner on the table and made her get off the phone. Grace, bless her heart, always assumes that Rose's friends are her friends too. So, naturally, she was asking Rose all about him and said, "I can't wait til he calls us back."
Rose didn't want to divulge too much information about her little suitor. "Mom, its embarrassing. I really don't want to talk about it."
*Boing. Grey hair. Head.*
And she doesn't want me to talk to her dad about it either. Too late. I texted him during the first phone call. Now she's asking me for some sort of mother-daughter confidentiality agreement. She won't talk to me about him unless I promise not to tell her dad about him.
As we ate dinner, the phone rang yet again.... and 5 more times after that. I finally called him back and told his big sister to pass on the message that 1 call per night is more than sufficient for an 8 year old.
After dinner, Rose was supposed to work on homework. She was unfocused and frustrated because she wanted to talk to him again.
Ok, are you kidding me? Is this what I look like when I can't talk to my Gentleman?!
Oy. Oy freakin' vey.
The frightening part is that I had my first boyfriend at age 8 too. Even weirder than that is that he looked very similar to this little boy who has my daughter all smiles.
And even MORE worrisome is that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.