Hard to Play Hard to Get

Today, Ian was going to see Rebecca again in school after a long, long absence. She went with her family for a week to California. In the middle of the week last week, late in the evening, when the apartment was quiet, I heard Ian's little voice call from his bed:

"Mom?"

I went in, not happy about it, but tried to have an open ear. Ian was curled in the fetal position sucking his thumb, no different than when he was three months old. "What is it, Ian? Why aren't you asleep?"

"Mom?" he said with a slight whimper. "It's taking Rebecca and Rachel [ed note: that would be Rebecca's 7-yr-old sister] a long time to come back from vacation."

Oh, her again. I guess it isn't too early for love to stink. I reassured him that the week would go fast and then he'd see her again.

Last night, in anticipation of the event, he wanted to text her a message on my phone (as if she had a phone number, which she doesn't, but I wouldn't have sent it anyway). The message said: "I love you, Rebecca." Oy vey. Thank God Ian has me to protect his image.

Ian took an inordinate amount of care dressing this morning, choosing a kelly green shirt that made him look especially handsome (according to his mother). When we arrived in the classroom this morning, Rebecca was at a table with a gaggle of other pre-school girls. They were making jewelry out of play dough.

Ian nearly pirouettes past her table, light in his shoes, beaming from every inch of his four-year-old body. "Rebecca!!" he blurts. "You're here!"

The look on Rebecca's face unfortunately foretells a long path ahead of Ian in which he will overplay his hand again and again. I could see it coming. In the midst of rolling out one of her links of plasticine, she looks up at him and literally glares. As if to say, Oh, it's him again. If there weren't witnesses, I might have said something.

But after a moment contemplating her predicament, I couldn't really blame her. Ian flutters around her, asking her what she's doing and how was her vacation, to which she answers with a few grunts. Then Ian dispatches himself to the computer table to play a video game with the boys.

Ian kept a stiff upper lip and pretended not to notice the brush-off (well, more than likely he didn't realize he was getting the brush-off). As I left, I gave him an extra long hug and told him how handsome he was.

But love stinks in that direction, too. I'm already taken.