"I like someone."

The best moments are always the small ones, shared while standing barefoot in the kitchen while splitting a turkey bacon sandwich on ciabatta bread.

"Really?" I said. "What's his name?" Yes. I know i said "his" and the reason i said "his" is that i was unprepared for the idea that my son could possibly have romantic intentions towards a girl because, up until this point, he had always considered girls to just be awkwardly shaped boys. So my assumption was that he had found a new friend. . . And he had, but

"Its a her and her name is Katie."

Its at this point I take a look at my son. I think about how it felt 10 years ago, having something kick you in the stomach from the inside, and then what he looked like when her cried at 3 months, and how his eyes would get real big when the camera would flash while he played in his stationary walker. I loved his little fat legs and when i look at those same legs now, they've thinned out, scarred up, and are always covered in a fine layer of ash. On his arms are always the faint stain of water based markers, and under closer scrutiny, i see the faded green stain of "I Love Katie." This makes me smile.

"So tell me about Katie." He takes a bite of the sandwich and chews it thoughtfully, trying to put into words what it is about Katie that makes her so awesome, he can even tell his mom about her. . .

"She's really nice."

This makes me wonder, "What does she look like?" My son could absolutely care less about someone's appearance. If you ever have concerns about your handicapped, retarded, blind, one eyed, overweight deaf child making friends, please, invite us over. I can guarantee that if this kid can move one hand to play a video game, Miles can make this person a friend. Its really one of the things I love about him. Regardless of my biting wit and negativity, he has fought my genetics and was born a wonderfully positive person, seeing the good in damn near everyone. And oh my god what if she's white? I live in Marlborough, so what else COULD she be? Not wanting to let him think it matters, I ask

"So what color is her hair? Is she blonde?"

"Its brown."

"Dark brown? Curly? Light?"

"Not dark, kinda light, really. . . Long."

So i considered this and decided that it didn't matter what Katie looks like. Hell, MY first boyfriend was white. Tom Blalock, I still think about you, even though Michael Shoemaker said our kids would look like zebras. So instead of pursuing that trail, I ask,

"Well, does she know you like her?" I ask so i can start developing the plan to help Miles woo her, but before i can tell him what song to play outside of her window "Say Anything" style, he tells me

"Yes. I'm not shy around her."

Well. . . That's how I know this is real love. But with real love, there comes the chance of heartbreak. As a mother, the last thing I would ever want it my son's heart broken. So i think about that for a second. Miles decides he doesn't like the sandwich, and I thank him for at least trying the food. We talk about mangoes as I have them sitting on our counter, and he tells me that he's never tried one. So i slice one open and offer him a piece. he thinks its sweet, to which i say,

"So, does she like you, too?" This is important. In my head i see him offering her a flower, and her smacking it out of his hand and spitting in his eye. I smile smugly to myself as i think of Miles belting her in the gut after that, but as I cut another slice of mango, he tells me

"Yes she likes me too, but she told me to keep it a secret."

WTF? I think. What is she ASHAMED of you? huh?So I ask, "Why?"

"Her best friend, Courtney? Yeah, she hates me." (Sigh of relief) The ole girlfriend-is-a-hater deal. I know that one all too well, having been the hater and the hated's girlfriend. He goes on to explain that he and Courtney were in the 3rd grade together, and she's hated him since then. I, of course, think Courtney is a racist bitch, but won't say that to Miles. I hope that he will be better than me. As we finish the mango, my husband walk into the kitchen for a piece. I whisper to Miles, "Can I tell him?"

He shakes his head no. . .

He jumps down off of his stool and heads upstairs to take his shower.

Moment over, but I'll never forget it. . .