Something extremely disturbing happened at Will's soccer game today. No, it wasn't that they lost, that was just sad, but not disturbing.
I was sitting on the bleachers behind two teen boys. I don't know who they were, they didn't stay for the whole game. But who they are does not matter, what they are does. Boys of the teenage variety.
I was sitting behind them and I saw one elbow the other and then whisper something in the other's ear, and then they looked at Eve, who was sitting in a chair behind them. Eve was sporting her new layered hair style, wearing her hip new sunglasses and reading a book. So, okay, yeah, she looked kinda cute.
I SWEAR to you, one of those boys said to the other one "Hay, she's kinda hot." The other one agreed, then someone, somewhere did something with a ball and they were distracted.
I was stunned. WHAT????!!??
Eve is NOT hot.
She is eleven.
Eleven CAN NOT be hot.
I felt very much like grabbing those boys by the scruff of their scrawny little teenage necks (never mind that they were both bigger than I was) and telling them that my Eve was decidedly NOT hot. NOT HOT. Because instead of hot, she's ELEVEN.
But I did not.
I looked over at my little Eve and began to plot a way to add a tower to the south wall of our home. A really high tower. With locks. And no windows. And perhaps some sort of mythical creature to guard her.