The Apple Doesn't Fall Far....

I remember every boy I ever had a crush on.

I remember my first, Eric Meek, who lived behind my house and whose older brother married us in the backyard after preschool one day. My kindergarten crush, J.D. Thurman, once kicked me because he didn't speak my language of flirt, i.e. taunting him at recess with his full name, John David. Sadly, I didn't mind the kick, but I did lose the crush. No worries, someone else held my attention moments later.
I held onto my 8th grade crush with such vehemence that even after we "broke-up", I still daydreamed about being his Sister or Mrs. ______. We'd play basketball together, he'd go on a mission, and I'd be that sweet spirit waiting for him to come home and marry me. (Insert here the Garth Brooks song about "Unanswered Prayers" being a blessing we didn't know we wanted.)

One "crush" was to a best friend in high school, whom I thought dearly of, and confused that with another sort of love. I caught him hugging, heavens forbid, my best girlfriend. That was it, instantly I deserted that crush and what remained was all friend. Sadly, moments later, and I'm not joking, within minutes I was in crush with another one of my best friends. If only my girlfriend had hugged her way through my college years, I'd have been better off. Maybe not, but it's worth a thought.

I thrived off the bi-polarness of being in like, I wasn't in any position to listen to anyone explain to me the different forms of like and love. It just was one, the one, the crush.

I spit all this out because of two things.

First, I have this unformulated theory about my kids. I like to look at them and say "_______, what are you going to have to deal with in this life that is
1: my fault but at least I understand it and can help you,
2: all your own but your dad can fix it, or
3:(the worst) something that I totally can't help you with and will feel helpless to help you overcome it."

There is this awesome Coldplay song (and you're right, every Coldplay song is awesome, but I digress) that says:
"The hardest part was letting go, not taking part. I tried to sing, but I couldn't think of anything."

Which, as a momma bear who is protective of her young, that is the hardest part of parenting. Let them do it their way. Knowing when to back off. Knowing when to say something, or having something to say.
I have great parents, who taught me a lot. But sadly when it came to boys, I didn't grasp enough or maybe I am just a slow learner and had to learn through life.
A college friend's mom, an angel, once told me that she liked me better when I didn't come around with my then boyfriend. I love it when people are blunt. I totally got it. I had tried breaking up with him, he tried dumping me, but we just kept finding our way back to each other. Like two magnets, but not in a good way. But having this momma tell me straight up, well, it helped, it sunk in.

And the second reason, and the point of all this madness, is that I think I've passed on this wretchedness to my daughter Sierra.
I was in her kindergarten class today helping out and noticed something. I recognized six of the boys names in the class because my little 5 year old has only mentioned them about a dozen times each. Little Daniel R., the paragon, was an adorable little kid with a prized medal pinned on his shirt. The twin brothers (remember the earlier post about the two boys who happen to have the same dad AND backback - what a coincidence, right?) they are these stout little guys with bashful smiles.
And the "cool" kid, Johnny, with his cool shoes and beautiful blue eyes. She doesn't even know the names of the girls in her class. I asked CC to go get a certain girl for me, and she didn't know who she was, but would send her other friend Reese in. Reese is a pretty cute little boy too.

So, what to do? Do I expound upon her the virtues of having lots of friends, girl or boy. Do I explain to her that she will like some more than others, but to keep it simple? Am I overkilling it? Yes, probably. But, it looks like history repeats itself in our children, and hopefully, from my mistakes and madness, I can help her through the highs and lows and tell her it's okay. You can be obsessed with boys, and still find one that can make all the rest seem like practice.