Tinkerbells

"Hey mom, can I have $6?"

"Uh sure ... what for?"

There's a dance at school tomorrow. Valentine's Day dance. He needs two tickets. He says he'll pay me back. Must be important. 

And so it begins. Girls.

He gets his black button-down shirt ready for the next day; worried about wrinkles, he wets it and puts it in the dryer. It's hanging from his loft bed, ready to be worn. 

"Can you give me a haircut?"

He's not worried about how he looks, but he wants to be his best. I take a little off the sides and clean up the back. He's really starting to look and sound like his dad. 

"I hate Valentine's Day! Can we just skip it?" his little brother feigns disgust at the holiday of love. I know he'll still be disappointed if I don't get him a giant Reese's chocolate heart. This may be the last Valentine's Day where Lucas cares to pick out his own store bought Valentine's to give out to friends. 

I think back to my own 6th grade dance and try to think what it will be like for him. I stood giggling in a circle with my girlfriends as they played Seal's "Kissed By A Rose"; a teacher waltzes with herself in a corner. I was way to nervous to dance with anyone in 6th grade; I'm glad Davey isn't so shy. I wonder what horrible songs they'll play for these kids. 

He usually tells me about "girlfriends" or girls he likes, asks me advice, confides in me. This time he's being a little more secretive. I'll sit back and wait for him to tell me. It's time to start having talks about consent, safety and all of that icky stuff I would rather pretend didn't happen.

I have to stop myself from thinking or worrying too much about not being #1 some day. It's so tempting to want to intervene, say this one is good, this one is bad. I hope we've given him the tools he needs. I hate to think about the heartbreak to come, but for now, it makes me happy to see the anticipation in his eyes, how he's excitedly planning for the event and the careful way he's getting himself ready. I'm glad he has something to look forward to, even if it means that borrowing the car, prom and serious girlfriends are probably right around the corner. 

So instead of sitting in the parking lot of the middle school and biting my nails, I'll be distracting myself at home, watching Pretty In Pink, waiting for his text to come pick him up. Hopefully, he'll have a good story to tell me on the ride home.