The smell of vanilla filled the air, most likely due to me dropping the open bottle and it splattering everywhere. I love cooking but absolutely dislike baking. It's always so messy and there's always so many utensils needed. When I cook I never measure anything, that's how I remember my daddy doing it. He went by taste and smell and watching him cook was always so exciting for me, but with baking, measuring is a must and it's more of a pain to me than anything.
As Kenna walked by the island on her way to greet the baby her hand slid over to the cooling rack where a batch of Italian chocolate cookies sat. As she grabbed a fistful I sternly recited her full name, first, middle two names and her last. Yes, it's a mouthful but don't all mothers do that when their impish tykes do something they shouldn't? Tyke? She's certainly not a small child any longer! She immediately dropped her cookie loot and turned to me with a sheepish grin. I tried not to smile which didn't work and told her to take them after she went in to wash her hands. As she passed by me she leaned in and kissed me, and with a perplexed look but inquisitive tone she asked if she could talk to me about something. I paused for a split moment thinking, OH DEAR. My immediate thought after hearing her request I have to admit, was less than enthusiastic thinking something horrible happened in school. I replied, "Of course" and as she continued on to the bathroom her words were "I have a dilemma and need some advice. but we'll do it later after Cruz goes home".
Kenna has always been very open with me. She's a parent's dream child. she's considerate, compassionate, and empathetic. She's not afraid to ask nor is she hesitant to tell me things, two things I have always had difficulty doing. She minds without argument even when she doesn't want to do what she has been asked to do. Even when she has done something wrong her conscience weighs heavily and the strain of it overwhelming for her and she admits to her wrongdoing. I have had some great giggles over silly little things she has admitted to. Just yesterday she came clean to snooping through the pile of Christmas gifts that sit prestigiously under the tree.
Later, after Cruz left, the two of us while decorating the sugar cookies we made the day before, she divulged her problem to me. Our talk began with a question from her - " Mom, when did you start dating?" Dating? What is dating to an 11 year old? I had dated 4 guys and only two of them in the true sense of the word.
Mark S. my first. That was a long-distance relationship, he would hitchhike 5 hours to New York to come see me from his home in Pennsylvania on the weekends and stay with his aunt while here. He was a sweet guy when he wasn't drinking. After a few years of hiding the bruises I finally had had enough.
Then there was John S., the only one my own age and he broke my heart, breaking up with me because I refused to give up my virginity.
Steve P. was more than a few years older than me. I started dating him when I was in high school. He was a Medical Technician by day and a musician by night. He was very patient but his dream was to move to California, and he did. And then my husband, the perfect gentleman and he still is to this day.
She commenced to tell me there's a boy who likes her and on good authority (her words) he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend. Kenna, being the way she is finds humor in just about everything. She then commented, " I'm a girl and we're already friends, what more does he want?!" She continued saying this boy use to "date" a girl she now hangs out with and although she likes this boy, a lot, and they are already friends, she didn't know if she should say yes because she didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings nor ruin the friendship she and this boy already had. An hour later, after some deep conversation about boys she ended with a statement and a very insightful one at that - " I'm only in 6th grade, I don't even know what love is yet!" I hope the next six years are just as easy.
