We have a bit of a problem. To explain it, I need to tell the following story:
Gutsy has a friend named Madison. She is effectively the female version of him, which is both good and bad. When she's not furious at him for not following her rules, or when he's not stomping his feet demanding to go home because she won't precisely do his bidding, they get along famously. Her parents commiserate with us about having such diva-esque children. We've quite literally bonded over this experience. It's a special, you-totally-get-why-my-hair-is-already-going-grey kind of bond.
Anyway, Gutsy came home on Wednesday, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Mom!" he declares proudly. "Madison and I had the best day at school! Some girls were trying to hit us, so we ran around hiding from them! Isn't that great?"
He flopped down in a chair and sighed. "She's my best friend!"
Ignoring the fact that little girls were trying to hit them for some reason, the story is pretty cute. I like that he and Madison have each other to
At around 7PM, I get a text from the Guilt Goddess: Her little guy, Jacob, was on the local news at six. Naturally, being an excellent mother who was too busy furthering the education of her children by doing homework with them, we had missed it. She sent me the link of the online broadcast, and I called the kids over to see it.
There, in Scotiabank Place, was little Jacob watching our local NHL team, the Senators, at a practice. He was meeting them and their lovely wives. (Why are hockey wives always so damn beautiful? Oh, right: because they can afford to be. Hook me up with a trainer and an esthetician and see how gorgeous I get. Sort of.) Jacob was as sweet as ever, doing an interview about the experience like it was no big deal.
Suddenly, I hear Gutsy behind me. "So that's why Jacob wasn't in class today. He was meeting the Ottawa Senators!" His eyes grew wider in amazement and - was that pride? "Look at that; my best friend is on the news!"
"Gutsy, I thought Madison was your best friend," I reminded him.
The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "Second."
It's official: My six-year-old is a fame whore.