Yesterday my daughter snuck her first boy into the house. Lola. She's four. As in, four years old. My older daughter has never had much use for boys other than her father. She falls firmly into the camp of those little girls who believe that boys are "YUK" and have cooties, and I don't anticipate that changing for at least a few more years. The other one is an entirely different story. The first time Lola fell in love she was two. Our young, good-looking friend from Argentina came to visit for a few weeks and she must have felt that latin vibe, firmly wrapping her arms and legs around his shin like a monkey on a tree. He was forced to limp around the house for hours while she gazed up at him in adoration. He humored her, allowing her to "paint" his toenails and fingernails with sidewalk chalk and when he occasionally ventured out by himself to explore the local sights, she mooned around sobbing, "Mama, when is Carlos coming back? I loooove him!" Oy!
Yesterday evening as I was elbow-deep in dishsoap, she came to me, eyes wide underneath a furrowed brow. Her head dipped in contrition and she confessed that she hadn't told me the truth about something. I stifled a giggle and encouraged her to go on. She explained that when she had disappeared shortly after dinner to go upstairs and "play with the cat", she was actually heading up there to check on Troy, the neighbor boy whom she had led into her bedroom half an hour before. I was totally unprepared to react to something like that, so I just thanked her for coming clean. Apparently feeling absolved, she wheeled around, tore down the hall and slammed the front door on her way out.
I finished the dishes and headed upstairs to take a hot bubble bath. As I entered my bedroom I heard a scuffle and walked around the other side of my bed just in time to see a pair of five-year-old boy feet disappear underneath. She had abandoned him! I just assumed they had gone outside together, but she left him to his own devices up here. Deciding to spare him the trauma of being outed by Lola's mother (not something I will do when they boy in question is a teenager, believe me), I headed back downstairs.
I found her in the garage with her older sister and some neighbor girls, practicing dance moves to the soundtrack from High School Musical (don't get me started). I explained that inviting someone to sneak into your house and then leaving them alone was neither polite nor very wise and asked her to go get him. She looked at me as if I were nuts, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Oh, he'll be fine, Mom. I need to practice with the girls now. We're putting on a show later."
She is one child I won't have to worry about co-dependence with. She was willing to sneak him in and hang out for a while, but once she realized her mistake and confessed, he was on his own to take responsibility for his actions. I have no doubt that the whole thing was her idea, but at least she's letting him face the music for himself. I pity the boys who have to learn that lesson the hard way with her. From now on, when I hear someone entering my house, I'll be doing a head count. Until then, I'm opening a bottle of wine and watching the show.