Then and now

Tonight as I tucked Charlie into bed, he was a little weepy. I asked him if he wanted me to sing him the songs I used to sing when he was a baby. He indulged me and said "yes."

I started patting his back -- patting, not rubbing. None of my kids like to have their backs rubbed. And I began to sing what I used to call my "love medley." It starts with "Jesus Loves the Little Children," then segue's into a song from a kid's music CD. The lyrics to that one go:

I love you so much, I love you so much,
I can't even tell you how much I love you.
You're special to me, you're special to me,
I'm lucky to have you as part of my life.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love you so much, I love you so much. I can't even tell you how much. I. love. you.

After that one comes the Barney song. You know, "I love you, you love me..."

The moment with Charlie tonight was a comforting snapshot of "then."

The "now?" Not as comforting!

We went to my brother's graduation party last weekend. Charlie wanted to know if high school kids would be there. When I said yes, he got more specific. Would high school girls be there? Yes, Charlie.

So this was the scene for most of the evening:

When the audience wasn't quite as captive, Charlie came outside to where I was talking with my sister Shelley, who was holding her son one-year-old son Josh.

"Aunt Shell?" interrupted Charlie. "Can I take Josh inside?"

"Why do you need to take Josh inside," I asked.

"Well," he said without shame or hesitation, "the high school girls like babies and they think he's cute. So I want to take him in there with me."

I couldn't believe it. My not-yet-11-year-old son was using his cousin as a chick magnet! I'm gonna have to keep an eye on that kid. Anyone know a good all-boys school?