a glimpse of things to come

We went to Oil Ranch today, out in Hockley.  It's one of those places that has pony rides and playgrounds and teepees and a train ride and a barn with animals and a hayloft.

We went with some other moms, one of whom is the mother to a boy we have known since Annabelle was six months old. This kid is a real rounder, full of piss and vinegar, as my dad does indeed say, and a kid who I legitimately like, not in the patronizing way in which adults like children, but in the way a person enjoys another person's company.

In the way of life long friendships between 5 year olds, Annabelle and The Boy alternate between fighting, bossing each other around and playing beautifully together and today was no exception.

They were in the hayloft, jumping and sliding and then The Boy's mother had to take some other kids to the bathroom and he was left in my care.  By this time, things had settled down in the barn and it was just us in the hayloft.  Someone, someone who clearly doesn't understand how hard it is to get hay off of a fleece jacket, suggested that we bury The Boy in hay before his mom came back and then scare her.  The Boy, being an adventurous sort, was game, with one caveat--no hay in his face.

So he and Annabelle set about burying him in hay and after while some hay got in his face and he asked Annabelle if she could get it out.  She obliged. She obliged with gentleness, with tenderness-- removing little pieces of hay from his hair, around his nose, the freckles on his cheeks and in the corners of his eyes.  His eyes were closed and his face was peaceful and relaxed, and he had a slight smile.  She obliged and I watched and I felt queer in my stomach.  I felt like I was removed from them and they from me.  I felt like I was intruding, that maybe I should look away, but I was transfixed by a request so small and in some way so meaningful.  It was ineffable.

And it is inevitable.  Someday, if Annabelle is very lucky, she will fall in love and have a moment like this that is real.  Right now, she is five, and has an age appropriate understanding of what romantic love is.  I am not one that tries to tag children with adult emotions and by no means think she has a crush on this boy, or likes him in any other than a 5 year old way, especially given the other night at soccer when he pushed her and knocked over her water bottle and she retaliated by kicking him a little bit too high in the leg with her cleats on...allegedly.  

But someday, she and her sister will fall in love and touch a boy's face with real tenderness and until that day part of our job as their parents is to show them what love looks like, and teach them how to love and be loved, not only for them but for society as a whole.

It makes me happy.  It makes me sad.

The word I am looking for is bittersweet.