A couple of weeks ago, when les bebes were with me, the Jazzman texted me and I laughed out loud at his clever and witty words. Boston asked what the text was, and I just told him the Jazzman was flirting with me. "Flirt" was a new word to Boston, and he asked me what it meant. I tried to explain, in my best post-menopausal can't-remember-words-anymore fashion, and he immediately internalized the word.On this past Friday night, I again had the babes, and took them to Panera for our evening meal. As we were walking in, my phone pinged, I glanced at the text message, and again laughed out loud. Boston asked, "Is that from the Jazzman? Is he flirting with you?"
I loved several aspects of that exchange. I loved that, after years of being a Glummy Grandma, my babes are hearing me laugh. On a regular basis! I loved that he is learning about flirting and learning it can be fun and joy-inducing. I loved that he's associating my phone pings and laughter with the Jazzman.
On Sunday afternoon, the Jazzman and I took the babes for a few hours so their parents could have a Valentine's Day date. As we got out of the car to go into my house, the Jazzman began scooping up snowballs from the banks on either side of my sidewalk and tossing them at the babes. They screamed and squealed, and reciprocated with snowballs of their own. (Yes, I got hit, too.)
Later in the afternoon, when Boston and I were alone in the basement, he looked at me and said, "The Jazzman is so much fun."
A couple of hours later, when we slid into the booth at Denny's for our dinner, Boston patted the bench next to him, looked up at the Jazzman, and said, "Can you sit here?" Later on, the Jazzman was looking on his phone for something and Boston scooted over next to him, resting his head on the Jazzman's shoulder to watch the screen.
I'm deriving a great deal of pleasure from how comfortable all these parties are with each other.
Life is good!
Valentine's Day was, after many, many years, not a sad and lonely Hallmark holiday.
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