I have vastly different children.
At this point, we usually eat and talk about that kid who got in trouble or the new toy in the Scholastic flyer or which dead animals they'll be dissecting this year. Last night, I wasn't feeling up to pig-gut talk, because I am an old fuddy duddy and no fun at all, so I asked 2of3 if he'd made any headway with his girl.
Last year, he fell in LOVE with a grade 4 girl. Like, wrote her sonnets and shit. This year, she's in 5 and he's in 4 and maybe the kid stands a chance, right? It was worth asking. We talked about her for a while and then I asked 1of3 if there was anyone special in his world. He said NO. I said, "Really, no one? And he said NOMAWMNO. I told him I wasn't trying to tease him, that I really, honestly wanted to know and he said, "I know you're being sincere, mom, but JUSTNONOWSTOP." All one word.
I said Huh. I said that wow, I had my first major crush when I was 6 or 7. They asked about him and I told them that he was the popular, rich-ish kid who tormented me from the first day of first grade until the last day of fifth grade. I told them what a bully that guy was, that I have dreams about him still, I just beat the snot out of him in them now. I told them that I didn't know why I had such a hang-up for Mr Matt Crowers, asshole extraordinaire, but I did.
Then I told them about Keith Scheshpin, and I know for a fact that's spelled wrong but I can't for the life of me remember how to spell it right. I told them out how cute he was, and how responsible he was, and how much older than me he was, so much that he didn't even know I existed. But he went to my church and I luuuuurved him, for a very long time. And now I can't remember what he looked like, not at all. Not even hair color. Love is fickle.
And then I told them about Jason Morawski, my very first "boyfriend." I was 13, he was 12, and I still have a metric shitton of pictures of him in my keepsake box. He was my first kiss, if you count a very tightly-closed lip-bump a kiss. I told them about how much Jason and I liked each other...like, we'd totally hold pinkies when no one was looking. I told them about how Jason's sister was my best friend, so I could never totally be swoony over Jason because I had to share my heart with him and his sister as equally as I could.
1of3 interrupted me and said, "So, he was just about my age, huh?" and I so totally threw up because man oh lordy, maybe I only tapped lips with that boy and just once, but I thought about much worse and he was the same age that my baby boy is almost now and that is just gross and wrong and I cannot believe some girl is going to think those thoughts about my baby like, next year, and still have his school picture from this year in the bottom of a wooden crate in 2030. God help me. God help ALL OF US.
And then I told them about Chris Sanders, the boy in my church congregation from New Jersey who was my first very much so real kiss, and who was very much so older than me, but the kiss was totally called for because we were close friends for a really long time but since he was so very much older than me, we never could "like" each other. But he came to hang out with me the night my mother snuck out while I was in the shower and took my brother and sister with her so that, when I left in a few hours for the airport to move in with my dad, I couldn't say goodbye to anyone. Not the best night of my life. So Chris came over, helped me un-child-lock the MTV and get the buckles on the suitcase closed and he kiiiiiiiissed me before he left that night. Like, 'soap-opera, arm around the waist, been waiting two years to do this' kiss.
Dude, first kisses are the greatest kisses in the history of kissing mankind. So are last ones. Especially when they happen at the same time.
And then I told them about Andy Ritchie, who went to high school with me and was as close to a 'boyfriend' as I had in high school except that he didn't go to my church and in my religion, you don't associate with people who weren't also a member of that religion, so I couldn't ever be his girlfriend. But I wanted to be, oh god did I ever. He was Irish and Portuguese, making him just about the most beautiful human on the planet, with the best hair, and he was an artist. He introduced me to Jane's Addiction and camouflage clothing and he actually came to visit me after I moved to Colorado in our junior year of high school. But I never got to have the first kiss, or the last one, with him.
I kept talking, because I don't know when to shut up, as if you didn't notice that by paragraph 83 of this post. I told them about a boy I met in high school named Scott who didn't really like me so much but I was infatuated with. Over the moon for. Obsessively stalking. Whatever. I told them about how much I wanted that boy to like me, and how much he didn't until after high school, but then he asked me to marry him one day on some train tracks behind my house.
And then I told them about this other guy I met, right after I broke up with Scott, and how I knew the very second I saw him that I wanted to marry him and have a bunch of babies with him. It took him a while to warm up to me, but eventually he came around and we fell in love and his name was Josh (our last name). They giggled.
And then 2of3 said, "Jeez, mom, I was wondering how long it was going to take you to get to our dad." Great, my kids think I'm a ho.
As if that's not bad enough, 1of3 said, and I wish I was kidding, "Mom, I think it's kind of weird that you've always had crushes on boys who you couldn't have." I said, "whuu?" and he said, "Mom, all of the guys you liked were either too old, or hated you, or went to your church, or didn't know you existed. Why didn't you just like someone who liked you first?"
You know what? We're eating in front of the tv from now on.