I think that my son will end up making me a grandmother when he's all of fifteen.
Yes, that is an odd prediction to make for a five-year-old, but my son is smo-o-o-o-oth.
He is the darling of many little girls from his preschool class, and, even more telling, with their mothers, too. Yesterday he attended a birthday party for a classmate. He was the only boy invited, but he did just fine with the five wiggling-giggling girls at the Build-a-Bear Workshop. He charmed the pants off of the bear builder with his sweetness and humor, sealing the deal when he named his stuffed kitty "Dear Prudence."
My husband says that being the boy that all of the girls' moms suggest as a date is the kiss of death. I shake my head and smile knowingly, reminding him that somehow I fell for his transparent maneuverings in college and that he didn't have half of the charm at nineteen that our son has at five.
How do I know? Here's a prime example:
We're outside as the sun is setting, checking our tiny new trees and harvesting a handful of green beans. The kids and I are standing on the concrete pad, looking at the western horizon as the sun sets.
Milo says, "Look, mom!" as he points to the crescent moon rising into the dusk.
"I see the moon, sweetie... very pretty tonight!"
He takes me had and gently pulls me to his eye level. "Do you know that the moon means?"
Puzzled, and not sure if he was going to suggest something to do with werewolves I answer, "No, what does it mean?"
"It means love, mom," he says as he cups my chin in his hand and looks me right in the eye. "And it means I love you!"
Yeah, tell me some fifteen year old girl is going to be able to resist that one...