I have a bone to pick with someone. Only problem is she is about four feet tall and probably weighs less than fifty pounds. But she has committed a cardinal sin in my book - she ripped up my baby's heart and threw it in the trash.
Let me explain - On Wednesday evening, I watched my precious little boy, who has shown no interest in any particular girl since kindergarten, cut out and color a heart for a little girl in his class. (I will refer to her as Miss B to protect her identity as I am sure anyone who reads this post will hop in their car or catch the quickest flight here to hunt her down and give her a good old talking to.) He didn't just make one heart; he actually made three. The first two just weren't good enough, and after he had thrown them away in disgust, I stepped in to school David on some paper-heart-making technique. After showing him how to fold the paper in half and cut one out, his end result was perfect enough for his beloved Valentine. He then colored it and drew more hearts on it and wrote her name on it - To: Miss B From : David.
That night, as he brushed his teeth and we went through our nightly rituals, he told me he was nervous to give her the heart. He was a little afraid she would laugh at him. And at that point, I tried to convince him that it was perfectly fine to like someone and not tell them. He could just keep it to himself. It was my mommy way of begging him not to put his heart out there (literally and figuratively) so that it couldn't be broken (or torn up and thrown in the trash).
It was second grade for me that I first remember liking someone. His name was Wade, and he is the guy that was killed in a car accident while we were in high school and that I still dream about. I can remember writing the notes in class - you know, the "check yes or no" notes. Often times, he checked no. I continued to set myself up for that elementary heart break over and over and over again. And then, in the ninth grade, history repeated itself with Wade, and he broke my heart again. So, I remember those feelings. And it is so hard as a mother to watch your son set himself up for that first heart break that he will remember. So hard. I just want to protect him from that as long as I can. I know that these things don't' really mean anything, but his feelings are as real as they can be. He does have a heart, and no matter how little it might be, it can still be broken. By a stinking girl. And I have no control over it.
Anyway - David carried his little heart to school yesterday. He told me that he gave her the heart and walked away. Then another girl in his class told him that she tore it up and threw it away. So he went to the trash can to see for himself. And it was there. He didn't seem to be upset by it. He just said, "I'm just not going to talk to her anymore." To which I replied, "No way - don't talk to her." And, of course, I had to reiterate what I have been telling him all along in his short seven years - stay away from the girls because they are nothing but trouble. Oh, and that his mama is the only girl that will ever be good enough for him.
I also told him that if Miss B tried to talk to him, he should just tell her that someone has something for her. His Mama. His Crazy Mama. Miss B just doesn't know - one day, she will long for a boy to cut her out a heart and color it, to fret and toil over something with pure emotion and desire to give her a gift from his own heart.