I’m not hip with that.

My almost twelve year old twins have just come home and announced to me that they are going out with two equally hormonal, prepubescent boys.

Best friends.


Double dating my girls.


Boy germs.

It wasn’t that long ago that we used to tease each other about boy germs if an offending species of the male variety brushed up against them and now they are ‘going out’ with them.

Apparently, all the twelve year olds have boyfriends.

Oh. My. Gawd.

I turn my back for a second and this happens.

They told me the creatures’ names but I couldn’t hear them. I had planted my fingers firmly in my ears and all I could hear was the thump thump thump of my heart pounding in my chest.

(Not listening, if I can’t hear you, it isn’t so).

I’m mature like that.

My babies.

Have boyfriends.

Oh, I know, it’s not serious boyfriendedness, nothing as concrete as kissing even, at least, not yet… but but but… it’s started and I’m not ready, not ready at all.

While we are on the subject, what is it with the still a fair way off from twelve year old boy, proclaiming his undying love for Bree the girl with the biggest boobs, in 6th grade? (tasteful, hey? Yes, that is why he is going out with her).

Whoever thought it was a good idea to have toddlers and teenagers together?

I can’t possibly be expected to cope.

Where’s my corner?

I need to crawl into a small dark space and rock for a while.