Last weekend, Avery kept yammering on about something to do with a “boyfriend,” and I said, “uh huh, that’s nice” and ignored 99% of what she was saying, like I usually do. (Trust me, it would be impossible and downright exhausting to pay attention to everything that comes out of Avery’s mouth!)
But when I picked Avery up from school yesterday afternoon and her teacher mentioned the word “boyfriend,” I paid a little more attention.
“It seems Avery has a little boyfriend in our class.”
Ha, ha, cute, yeah, awwwww!
“Avery and Dominic are inseparable all day. When we go out to the playground, he gets on that little horsey thing, you know? And she climbs on behind him and holds on to him.”
Uhhhh, do what??
Suddenly, I’m not liking the sounds of this. It seems my daughter (and Dominic, presumably) are a little too comfortable with the roles of boyfriend/girlfriend… at AGE FOUR.
So, then I scan the classroom (where the “Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody, Everywhere” song is blaring) frantically for my sweet, little girl… and zero in on her crawling on the floor underneath the cots stacked up in the corner of the room.
Dominic is two feet away from her, at the monstrous bin of Legos. He’s “cleaning up” alright. He’s picking up the Legos and throwing them… and Avery is crawling under furniture to pick up after him. (Yes, I’m thinking she is wayyyy too comfortable with her role as “Girlfriend!”)
So, I say, “C’mon, Ave… hurry up and pick up your Legos… we have to get going.”
Avery says, “Mom, can Dominic come to my house today and play.”
Helllll no! I mean, uhhh, “No, Avery, not today, sweetie. C’mon, let’s go.”
“But, Mooooom, I’m going to miss my boyfriend!”
At this point, I’m nearly ready to grab Avery by her shirt collar and drag her out the door… bring her home, lock her in a closet, and leave her there ’til she’s thirty.
She finally finishes picking up after her slob of a boyfriend, but before we make it to the door, she has to run back and give him a huge hug goodbye. “Bye, Boyfriend, I’ll see you tomorrow!” *flirtatious grin and batting of her eyelashes* (I swear!)
I cast a forlorn look at her teachers on our way out the door. And I find myself feeling… responsible… for my lovesick daughter and her blatant expressions of affection… at AGE FOUR. I want to scream to the teachers, “I don’t know WHERE she gets this from, I swear. Her father and I don’t even like each other!”
And then I started having horrible visions of the future… of Avery as a teenager, and boys knocking on our door and calling at all hours of the night, and my husband sitting on the porch with a shotgun.
I’m soooooo not ready for this.