The girlfriend

Last night a bubbly, giggly, pretty teenage girl was in our house. She was also in our pool, with our son, in the dark, alone. Since it was the first time we'd had a visitor of that nature, it was a bit of a milestone, a right of passage, and a little bit of an "oh no" moment.

I always knew the girls would come. I guess that time has come. And I'm okay with it. From my perspective, at the age of 15, you should be interested in girls. By the time I was 15 I'd probably had half a dozen boyfriends -- some 17 and even 18. I know what I was doing. I like that my son is willing to bring a girl here.

My husband, on the other hand, was a bit more concerned. "They're getting a little huggy huggy out there," he had warned me from his recon post near the kitchen window. "You'd better get out there," he had said, pacing nervously in front of my view of the TV.

But I was horizontal on the couch and couldn't come up with a reason why I needed to move at that moment. I've talked to my son. He's talked to me. He told me about a senior football player at his school whose girlfriend got pregnant and so he wasn't going to college on the scholarship he'd received. "It can ruin your life," he had said. "It will at least change it," I had replied.

We've talked about what boys are feeling and how girls can be, and how it's best to wait for the girl that he really really likes and to date a girl for quite a while before deciding anything about getting really close. I've also more blatantly told him I don't want to be raising grandchildren. We've had our talks.

So as my husband paced nervously next to me and I patted myself silently on the back for my open communication style, the girl came in the house. Her high pitched, peppy entrance made sure we all knew she was there. "Which switch is the light?" she had asked at the door of the bathroom. "I don't know," I had said from my couch, "Try one." "Thanks!" she had said in a cheery squeak, as if my advice on how to solve the dilemma had improved her night, perhaps even her life -- forever!

As I heard the door slide closed, I looked at Mark who had somehow fallen into his chair, perhaps stunned, and laughed. Then I jumped up and walked (okay, I ran -- really fast)through the house to the back door, opened it,and found my son flexing in the pool.

"Hey, what's up?" I had said. "Nothin'" he had said backinng out of the light. "You be careful out here," I said sternly. "I will," he said, then "I'm not..." he said. "I know," I said.

About that time our visitor, who I noticed as she stepped into the moonlight had an ever-so-tiny nose ring, bopped out the door. "Are you coming swimming with us?" she had asked with a huge smile, as if it would make her truly happy if I would. For a split second I considered, then reconsidered. Looking at my son, I said, "Not right now, maybe later." Then I turned, did a quick scan for visible tatoos, seeing none, smiled and said, "When it's time, we'll drive you home," and I walked back in the house.

I knew it was just a matter of time before the girls showed up. That's why I talk to my sons. This one may be the first to be alone in the dark in my pool with my son, but she certainly won't be the last. And I have another son who loves girls, and soon they'll be coming to my house to see him too. I'm okay with all that. But tonight when you lay down to sleep, please, say a prayer for me. I'm the mother of two teenage boys.