Girl Trouble
I think I forgot to mention that one of the very first pieces of information Evan gave me when I picked him up on that first day of preschool was that he met a girl. A girl named Valerie. Yesterday, a week later, my friend Stephanie started joking with another friend on the way into the preschool building about wanting to see this Valerie Ethan had been talking about.
"Wait- did you just say Valerie," I butted-in to the conversation, "I've heard about Valerie, too!"
"Yes, Valerie. Ethan described every clothing item that Valerie wore the other day."
"She was the first thing Evan told me about last Wednesday."
"Uh oh- do you think there's some rivalry going on over Valerie? That maybe Ethan and Evan are in competition here..."
We entered the building to retrieve the boys with our eyes peeled on high-alert for this Valerie.
Stephanie found her first, sellout. Philanderer THAT SHE IS, she chatted the mother up real good, but I took the opportunity to check out the girl...
An olive complexion and brown ponytail, Valerie was pushing a thick layer of bluntly chopped bangs away from her forehead as though it had been a very tough day of keeping all the boys at bay. Cute. She was cute. Although, (psh!) I honestly didn't see what the big deal was.
But while Stephanie was working her magic on Val's mom, Evan exited the classroom with Valerie's butterfly craft in hand. Talk about a literal upper hand! Thatta BOY! We'll show those Wattles where it's at.
(Okay, so that was before I told Valerie's mom that Evan had her butterfly, before, like Drano, I washed every hope of him winning the girl right down the drain.)
You see, Valerie was very disinterested in the art bearing her name, but her mother wanted it. WANTED. IT.
I wasn't sure if the teacher wrote the wrong name, if Valerie gave it to Evan, or if he'd gotten it by accident. Evan had run out of the room saying, "Look, I made a butterfly!!" and he usually keeps on top of his creations in a very protective manner, so I assumed he might know what he was talking about. (After all, Ethan went home the week before with Evan's lunch items, so it was possible the teachers had written the wrong name on the wrong butterfly.)
And as I was trying to inquire about all of this and get the facts, Val's mom said with a rather hurried expression on her face; "Well it does have her name on it."
I probably flickered a few wide-eyed blinks at her before responding; before handing it over and waving her on her way with pretend casuality but thinking, Okay, lady! You want the pipecleaner-adorned coffee filter that bad, it's yours!
And while Valerie couldn't have cared less if her mother had thrown the thing on the floor and stomped on it, Evan watched it depart down the hall from him with utter confusion. It was "that moment" for him; that moment just before the heartache sets in, before you realize what's just happened to you.
I panicked, realizing what I'd just done, that "that moment" was about to hit. The guilt seeped from my sweat pores as I realized that Stephanie wasn't the sellout- I was.
I quickly turned my attentions on Evan, who was looking up at me in bewildered betrayal; "Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna find your butterfly." The confusion lingered, as though he were trying to decide if he was supposed to be hurt or not, and WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU TO GIVE AWAY MY BEAUTIFUL COFFEE FILTER ANYWAY??
It was true. I had whored out his valued butterfly like a heartless pimp- cast his pearls among swine- and for what? For what! What kind of message was I sending him? That you do whatever it takes to keep the girl you like happy... to keep her mother happy?
NO. No WAY were we entering girl world on that foot. I had to make it right. And I would. If I had to plop down on a toddler-sized table with the craft box and make another one myself, I would make it right. If I had to take out Val's mother like a linebacker in the parking lot to get it back, I WOULD.
But it didn't come to that because Miss Eva soon returned with Evan's butterfly. The one with his name on it. He happily took ownership of it and I found myself, in fact, very relieved to have not made a seen with Val's mom. It could've gotten ugly. Really ugly. And in the end, she would've been right. I would've been the emotional half-wit clinging to a coffee filter that said Valerie, and she would've been the reasonable one who just wanted her child's art project.
And every day the word grace takes on a whole new meaning.
