I know it sounds out of the blue, but it’s not. I’ve known him for a while. He was the lead singer in a band I was in.. I mean who doesn’t fall in love with their lead singer? I’d be playing piano or drums, and I wasn’t very good, but he always encouraged me… well, more like demanded I kept playing.  And then he would get on his motorcycle and do tricks, (I wasn’t on it, he rode alone). Sometimes he would sit on his motorcycle singing Bad to the Bone, which I thought was adorable. Anyway, I don’t know that I would call him sensitive, but I’m always amazed at how he remembers things we did like two years ago. With my memory I can’t remember what I did yesterday, but he’ll pull something out of the past and I’ll just be amazed by his detail for recollection. And then he’ll want to re-enact the whole moment which is really sweet.

Things were going really well, until he revealed his true identity to me. He’s a superhero, which wouldn’t be a problem if I wasn’t the bad guy, but for some reason I always have to be the bad guy. Okay, that’s not really the problem. The problem is he’s three. He’s Hip Mom’s son. I just love him! I’ve never been one to want kids, so he’s perfect, because I get to play with him all I want and then go home. I don’t know how Hip Mom does it. He is more exhausting than a guy my age! I think it’s because he thinks I’m funny, which causes me to feel this constant need to “keep that image alive” so I do things to make him laugh, (and when you’re three, the more stupid, the better).

Once, over a year ago, we were playing in Hip Mom’s living room, and he decided it would be fun to play with her fragile sea shells. I could feel my status of ‘favorite house guest’ about to slip away, so I removed the fragile shell from his tight grip, and he got very angry with me. I did not want an upset two-year-old on my hands, so I decided to teach him about ‘imagination’. And so the two of us sat on the living room rug, which was instantly transformed into a beach towel, and we went to the beach, and saw imaginary fish, and we imaginary swam, and had an imaginary picnic… and that’s when the trouble began! I could tell he was growing bored with his turkey sandwich, so I asked him if he wanted anything on it. He played along and asked for mustard. Well, I gave him mustard, but I added sound FX (AKA fart noises) and a mustard mishap, that landed a glob of imaginary mustard on my foot. This brought on a throw of giggles, which delighted me, but did I stop and enjoy the moment? No. I had to eat my foot with the mustard on it and then tell him that my foot tasted like a hot dog. I even smelled my foot and confirmed that it did indeed smell like a hotdog. Now he was in hysterics, and squirting imaginary mustard all over me, which was fun for about five minutes.. for me, he was still thoroughly amused. I had to think fast to end this game, so I started to pretend that when he’d squirt me, he’d miss, and I would bury the mustard under the sand. After a while, this began to frustrate him and I could tell I was losing him. Dang my need to be funny! I threw in a new element to the game… mustard ‘land mines’. I didn’t cal them that, no need for a two-year-old to know what a land mine is, but basically, as I walked toward him, I ‘accidentally’ stepped in the sand covered pile of mustard. I made sure he understood just how gross and squishy it felt… ah, to see the pleasure in a child’s eyes… and then I took it further… of course, falling face first into the mustard, sand in my eyes, mustard on my face, oh he was loving it, so much in fact that at three+ he still wants to play the mustard game every time I come over. Ahhh, I long for those days in the band. Being in awe of this young lead singer who knew every lyric to any Elton John song you could name, and by every lyric, I mean even the obscure ones that I couldn’t figure out.  I haven’t seen him in a few weeks and I miss him terrible. That’s how I know it’s love….

©2011