Yesterday when I went to pick up Sidamo from school, I found a few kids in the classroom listening to story time, but Sidamo was in the bathroom. One of the other boys saw me walk in and immediately—he was clearly just waiting to tell someone—shouted, "We saw cheerleaders!" He had a beyond-his-age glimmer in his eye when he described their magnificence, their beautiful outfits, and how much he loved, loved, loved them. I suggested that he might like to be a cheerleader someday, but that seems not to have been the direction he was suggesting.
When Sidamo returned, one of his teachers explained that they had gone to the gym for play time and found the middle-school cheerleaders practicing. Some sort of glorious hedonism ensued; details are fuzzy, as I tuned out after registering the fact that it included cupcakes. A sugar injection half an hour before you send him home? Thanks.
As I started getting Sidamo's coat on, another classmate's mom showed up, and the teacher said to her, "It was so funny—we saw cheerleaders today, and Brandon* kept looking up at them saying, 'You're so beautiful!'"
Brandon's mom looked at him and said, "Brandon, I thought only I was beautiful to you!"
He smiled at her and said, "You are beautiful mommy!"
After a quiet moment in which we all soaked up the motherly/sonly love, Sidamo, who had been watching this whole interchange very intently, looked into my eyes, flashed his loving smile, and said, "Mommy?"
"I wish you were beautiful."
*Name has been changed to protect the little perv's privacy.