Yesterday afternoon LibbyLu and I were in the van. If this kid is going to talk, it is while we are in the car. We need to spend more time in the car. The ride home from school usually begins with me asking about her day. Apparently, they do nothing at school most days. Today was different.
LibbyLu: "I have a boyfriend."
Me: "Oh?" (Oh, crap! Okay well at least she is telling me.)
Me: "What is his name?" (So, if he touches one head on your head I can hunt him down and take care of business.)
LibbyLu: "His name is Logan. He asked me out today."
Me: "Oh, is he a nice boy?" (Gee, what kind of question is this? I have got to get it together. I want her safe, to feel safe, to talk to me.) Where do twelve year olds go? How do you go out? (Okay, maybe I need to cut back on the sarcasm, but seriously, it's not like I am going to let her go out. She smiled a bit. Okay, stay in mom mode.)
LibbyLu: We don't go out. We go out.
Me: (I need a tween dictionary.) "Well, that's nice honey." (Nice? Hardly. I hate this. Okay, think of ways to ask about Logan without asking about Logan. Don't be a drill sergeant, though, or she'll stop talking. Drop it for now and ask about him in the morning. Something like ask if he is on the football team. That should be okay. And, be there before school gets out to not allow for undo fraternizing.)
Middle school has been an adventure for LibbyLu. I was dreading this time for her as my middle years were not easy. She seems to be having the time of her life.
She likes a guy (hate this) named Logan. I liked Mark, but he did not like me.
She wears skinny jeans. I wore Dittos.
She has tons of friends. I had a select few.
She goes to a tough urban school - one of the oldest in the district (fodder for another post as we re-evaluate the possibility of private school). I attended a new suburban school.
I drive LibbyLu to school so she can benefit from an International Baccalaureate education. I took a school bus.
She says she is "Scene." (Thank goodness for Google or parenting would be even more treacherous.) I was a geek - and not in the good way.
She listens to Skillet. I liked Peter Frampton.
She wants "Scene" hair. See above. I had feathered bangs then cut my hair into a Wedge like Dorothy Hammill in eighth grade.
She is cool, but is not getting "Scene" hair no matter how much she begs. Put the eyeliner away for now sweet girl. Your time will come.