My five-year-old told me something last night that I wasn’t prepared to hear.

‘I kissed Jenny,’ he said.

You did WHAT?

He threw it out there as if it was part of his daily routine, you know, like ‘I brushed my teeth,’ or ‘Yeah, I ate my vegetables.

You kissed Jenny? You can’t blurt this out in passing as you run through the kitchen in search of your cleats. I mean, what happened to the days where boys are grossed out by girls and pigtails, and kisses gave you cooties? We apparently skipped that phase. Hayden was quick to notice my surprise, and felt like detailing the experience would help improve the situation:

Him: Don’t worry, Mom. I kissed her softly.

Me: What?

Him: Yeah, like this. (Imitating his pucker.)

Me: How many times?

Him: Oh, 4 or 5.

Me: How did this happen?

Him: She told me she wanted me to be her husband.