I Love This Stage

The kids have brought me so much joy this past week. They are so fun... and funny!

I'm not in the mood to post about each thing separately, so I'll just compile it all for this post.

Clay is deep in the throes of his first real crush. He has come home several days with a silly little grin on his face with no more to say than, "A. is so pretty."

A. also happens to play soccer with the same league that our kids play in. She is not on Clay's team, though.

This past Saturday, her team played on the field next to the field where Clay's team played. I walked back and forth between Clay's game and where Bruce was coaching Spencer and Allison's team.

I got to the younger two shortly before Spencer sat out for a bit. We chatted on the side while the rest of his team played. There's a little boy, A., on their team who is in Spencer's class at school, and I've seen A. each time I've gone up to the school to have lunch with my favorite redheaded kindergartner.

While Spencer was watching his teammates play, he must have seen A. do something that wasn't aggressive enough in his mind, because he shouted: "C'mon, A. Be a man!"

I have no idea where he learned that phrase. Probably from Bruce.

After the games were over, as we were walking back to the van to head home, Clay said, "Mom, some very important people were watching how well I did today."

What? Talent scouts? No.

Maybe he just meant his grandparents, who came to show support? So far off base it's not even funny.

"Who, Clay?" I asked.

And he names the little girl who he is crushing on.

Here we go. I'm thinking nothing's going to be the same now that he's discovered that all girls don't have cooties.

And it's not just the little girl he likes who is influencing him, either.

He came home this week and wanted to lift my free weights. To build muscle in his arms. Because another little girl in his class had grabbed him around his upper arm and then made the remark that he felt flabby.

Good grief! He's nine years old, for crying out loud. Can you imagine how silly he'd look as a nine-year-old beefcake?

He defended himself to me by saying, "I wasn't even flexing, Mom!" Poor kid.

Of course anything that Clay goes through rubs off onto little brother. Spencer has been lifting the weights, too.

He came up to me and Bruce the other night and said, "I want those little square things" and he gestures his hands somewhere in the vicinity of his torso.

"What square things, Spencer?" we asked.

"Oh, you know, those square things right there on your stomach."

Hmmm. A six-pack. Our six-year-old wants six-pack abs.

The funny thing is, Spencer actually has six-pack abs already. He just doesn't see it.

I'll share just a couple more words from them.

Bruce was watching the NASCAR race Saturday night and the rest of us were sitting on the couch in the den. Not really watching, but absorbing the noise just the same. (Well, Clay was watching. He's Bruce's Mini Me.)

After a bit, Spencer piped up and said, "I hate the races."

We asked, "Why?" (We do that a lot. Ask "why".)

"Because, it's just cars going around and around in an oval the whole time."

Yes, it is. And yet, it still entertains millions of adults each week.

One more. This time from Allison.

Saturday evening our church had a ladies' banquet. I didn't feel like getting too dressy-dressy. So I put on a melon-colored short-sleeved polo shirt and some brown pants.

Even though the day had been beautiful and warm, I thought it might be cool in the church gym or even outside by the time I left to return home. So I fished a beige sweater out of the recesses of my closet. Then I put on one of my pairs of Birkenstocks.

Allison was sitting on the couch when I came downstairs, so I asked, "How do I look?"

She looked me up and down, raised her pointing finger toward my top and said, "Ummm, maybe without the sweater."

I hesitantly peeled the offending sweater off, under the watchful eye of Allison. And once I held it in my hand, she said, "That's better."

I asked her, "What if I get cold?"

"Well," she said, "then you can wear it. But just carry it with you."

And so I did.

And I'm sure this scene will play out often in years to come.

I wonder when I can just cut her loose and let her be my own personal mall shopper?