A Warm Fuzzy Heartache

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On Today's Menu:

Homemade Peach Cobbler (a la mode)

Okay, so peach cobbler was the only dish I could think of to go with warm fuzziness. It's warm, and peaches are fuzzy, but hopefully not in cobbler. I'm feeling pretty warm and fuzzy now that I'm almost done with the first draft.

The other night I was doing some on-line research for a future project. I was clicking through an employee newsletter for an organization related to a new proposal. Gotta get that research right, you know? To be really cliche, lo and behold, I saw a picture of him. He stood in front of a scientific research plane he'd worked on in an engineering project for NASA. Who'da thunk it?

I got snapped back to sixth grade and riding my bike to school. Every day I hope I'd get a glimpse of Steve. Oh, Steve, an absolutely cute eighth grade boy who didn't know I existed. He was quiet and funny and smart. My best friend was friends with his sister, but still, he had no idea who I was. His locker was in the same row as mine--his at the top on one end, mind at the bottom on the opposite end. We passed each other when changing classes. Please, oh, please, say hi to me. I think once "our eyes met." Really, they did.

Now my Hannah is in her post-sixth grade summer. Her "boyfriend" Scott moved onto Fort Hood and away from our neighborhood three weeks before school let out. She saw him on the last day of school, when he said had her number. He would call. They'd keep in touch. Four weeks now, and nothing. She's been busy and having fun earning money, going to the pool, chatting on the phone, helping in day care, sleeping in sometimes, texturing the walls of her room (we're renovating it in retro style--but that's for a whole other post one day). But still, she will occasionally pine for Scott and wonder what she did wrong. "Nothing," I've told her. "Nothing at all."

It might be puppy love, but puppy love is still real to the puppy.

I moved away my junior year of high school, after Steve had already graduated and gone on to college. I still remember him and the school trip to Bush Gardens my sophomore year (he was a senior). They took a group picture, and I sat next to him. Well, actually he ended up about two feet away when they had us all sit on a stone wall in front of a fountain for the picture, but there I was. Next to him. Still crushing, I guess.

Of course now I'm an old married lady, but I still remember the feeling of the possibility of having something special with someone. Warm, fuzzy. I'm definitely not married to a quiet, funny guy. He's funny, but not quiet. God knew for sure I didn't need a quiet man.

Now I just have to be there for my daughter with her warm, fuzzy heartache. She'll get better. We all do.