I’m Not Ready

I’ve hesitated to mention anything here because saying it makes it real, but for the past 2 weeks BOYS have been showing up at my door asking for my daughters. Shaggy haired boys on Razor Scooters barely glancing at me as they mumble, “Is Amy home?” or “Can Amelia play?”

“Who are you?” I ask, being careful to keep my voice as hostile as possible. They may just want to play in our woods now, but I’m training them for future more nefarious visits to our front door. You will address me as Mrs. Rosie and you will dress in a coat and tie. Reproductive organs will be left at home as you will have absolutely no need for them.

You guys! Boys! At my door! Asking for my daughters! Kill me now.

And they don’t so much play as stand around in an awkward group. The boys flip their scooters back and forth and the girls hang on each other and kick the ground a lot. Then they go into the woods and even though I can see them and their muted, ironic sweatshirts and they’re mostly climbing trees and lifting up logs so they can throw sleeping snakes at each other or whatever it is they’re doing, I always find a reason to call the girls inside after a few minutes. I’m just not ready.