Norah has a crush on a little boy at preschool named Luke. She insisted on showing me Luke’s picture on his cubby and informed me that he’s 4. “Don’t worry, Mom. When I have my birthday, I’ll be 4,” she said to me.
Norah is already talking about scheduling a playdate, a term I’m not sure how she knows. But the good news is, I sized up Luke’s mom in the parking lot when I heard her call his name. She didn’t appear as though she’d spent hours prepping to look perfect for Luke’s pick up. In fact, she even smiled at me when we passed on the stairwell. Already a good sign. There is hope that I could muster up the courage to invite her and her son over to play.
Last night as I tucked Norah into bed she said, “Luke is sometimes short for Lucas. My dad’s name is longer because he’s a grown nut. When Luke grows up he’ll be Lucas, too.”