I often wish I had started keeping a journal of all of the funny things I’ve heard from the mouths of kids over the years.
Back when I wrote monthly columns for the Redwood Gazette and then weekly columns for the Wabasso Standard, I’d often share with readers the stories of my weekend trips to the farm and the visits with my adorable little nieces and nephews.
There were tales about nephew Matthew wobbling up to me with a toothy grin and saying “Juwee” for the first time; and when nephew Zach declared, “I want to go hishin’ too!,” when he begged to join Matt and I on a fishing expedition to Hawkinson Bridge on Lake Ocheda.
I haven’t seen a whole lot of my nieces and nephews this summer and I’m missing them horribly. The Fairmont Buntjers haven’t visited the farm since late May and I am going through Blake, Reece and Alayna withdrawals. Seeing pictures posted on Facebook of their summer vacation at a northern Minnesota lake cabin, Blake’s little league baseball games and miscellaneous snapshots of the kids having fun on their new Slip-N-Slide have made me miss them all the more.
I miss their giggles, their hugs and yes, I’ll admit that I’m even missing their constant barrage of questions.
Fortunately, however, I live in a neighborhood filled with children.
My neighbor Patrick, age 6, has taken to greeting me when I get home from work, stopping by on the weekends and visiting in the front yard when I’m trying to mow my lawn.
A couple of weeks ago, after pushing my lawn mower back into the garage, Patrick came walking up my driveway.
“Hey Julie,” he said. “Somebody likes you. He wants to be your boyfriend.”
Taken aback, I looked around. Hmmm, there was no one else in sight.
“Oh really? Who?” I asked, waiting for a good lookin’ man to appear.
“Come on over,” Patrick hollered in his deep, 6-year-old voice.
And there he stepped out from behind the mini-van next door … his beautiful brown eyes looking down at his shuffling feet and a shy smile on his face. He had a full head of dark hair … chocolate-colored skin … and was all of about four feet tall.
Yes, the man who wants to be my boyfriend is a little 5-year-old boy!
I hid a tinge of disappointment, smiled and greeted my little admirer. We stood in my driveway and chatted about important things like the park across the street, bicycles and video games.
When I walked up my back steps and waved good-bye, Patrick and his younger friend turned to walk down the driveway.
And then I heard it …
“See, I told you she was groovy!” … this from Patrick.
Groovy? I’m groovy?
Hmmm … is that better or worse than Hick Chick?