A few days after I wrote this post I was completely floored when hubby told me two little girls from Woody’s school came over to our house... to see Woody! They just showed up. Out of the blue! Hubby said he had the garage door open and the girls walked right up the drive way and started asking him questions. Hubby said Woody ran away to his room to hide (er, I mean went to his room to change his clothes for soccer practice) which left hubby there with the girls. He said they kept going non-stop...
“Are you Woody’s dad?” (yes)
“Does Woody play soccer?” (yes)
“Are you Woody’s coach?” (yes)
“Are you the head coach?” (yes)
“We play soccer at school. Woody is really good, he plays all the positions.” (uh huh...)
Then? They started looking around the garage and trying to see inside the house.
“Who is that?” pointing to a caricature drawing on the wall of Woody’s older brother playing hockey. (That’s Woody’s brother)
“Oh, does he play hockey?” (he used to.)
“Does Woody play hockey?”(no)
“Then whose trophies are those? Are they Woody’s brother’s trophies?” (yes)
“Do you guys have a big back yard?” (yes)
“Woody says you have a big back yard. Do you have a big net in your back yard?” (no)
“Why not?” (because we got rid of it)
“We’d really like to see your back yard. Can we see your back yard.?” (maybe another time when Woody’s mom is here.)
According to hubby, between every question they would look at each other and giggle and one of them would whisper something to the other and then the next question would come. Finally hubby went to go find Woody. He told him to come and take care of his friends and Woody asked him, “What? They’re still here?” (yes)
Sigh, even though I have been through this before (twice) with the older (step) kids it still seems a little sad some how. I know this was innocent and Woody did not encourage these girls to come over (much less invite them), but it is the beginning. It’s how it all starts and there is no turning back time.
And me? I’m left with the haunting echo of two 10-year old girls giggling (in that way) over my baby.