K-I-S-S-I-N-G

My daughter, the Kiss-aholic. I'll bet you think I'm talking about the walking teen hormone, the one who is addicted to boys and too-tight jeans and bares entirely too much cleavage for a 14-year-old. Nope. I'm speaking of Unruly, the five year old. The little angel who started kindergarten last week. My little darling who loves to give nighttime kisses and anytime hugs and is made of sugar and spice and pink bubblegum.

The little girl who loves to wear dresses and fancy shoes and pin boys down in the bus aisle and kiss them as they struggle to get away. Oh, did I just say that?! Yes, yes, I did. I got my very first call from the principal of the elementary school this morning, the first of many calls, I'm sure, informing me that my sweetest angel, darling dearest had received a write up on the bus. For kissing boys. First grade boys. In the aisle of a skanky, dirty, stinky school bus. *shakes head* She held him down on the floor, by the poor boy's ears and sat on him and kissed him. On the mouth. Because he was CUTE!

It's one of those things I can either laugh about out of her earshot or get really upset about. I chose the former. Why get upset? She's five. This too, will pass. I'll explain that only mommy and daddy and Wild and Nana and Aunty Wonderful and the Boy Wonder get kisses. No one else. At least not until she grows some boobies.

It could be worse. She could be me, at five.

At five I wasn't kissing boys. I was The Peeper. I was peeking under bathroom stalls and laughing at partially naked people sitting on the pot. Oh, what great fun THAT was! For me, at least. The principal got involved, mom was called in for a Conference and I'm sure I had no idea why sneaking peeks at people peeing wasn't appropriate.

And it passed by the time I hit second grade. I have no more urges to peep. Well, almost no urges. But we'll not discuss that.