We've had a houseguest last night and today, a top-notch 11-year-old boy from Arizona. His dad (Hi Chuck!) and mom (Hello Angie!) are friends from wayyyyy back. As in, G dated Angie in high school (not as awkward as you would think. Anymore!), Chuck's one of his best friends from the old days, & Chuck and I were pals in person and by pen for years, etc. etc. (Logan people tend to play musical chairs with dating partners until the combination feels right, I guess.)
Anyway, as I was saying before I meandered into friendship geneology, Chuck had business here and brought his son S along for some quality time but needed a place for him to be while he did said business.
I excused Maddy and Sam from school today (we're Homeschooling for One Day, I told them) and showed them the town. We did the Old North Bridge. We ate at Helen's. It wasn't until I was sitting on a bench in the Museum of Science, watching them try out the experiments--laughing & teasing & getting along--that I started having Scheming Thoughts.
I have to admit it's happened before. Is it such a crime that my mind starts jumping ahead a decade (and a half...ish?) to marriage material? We don't live in a culture that arranges marriages formally and we certainly are past the days when property and social advancement and inheritance all depend on the advantageous union of two families.
Am I overly Mrs-Bennet-ish (When you have five daughters, Lizzie, tell me what else will occupy your thoughts, and then perhaps you can understand) to get giddy at the thought of matching my children with the kids of our friends? We know how they've been raised, we've watched them grow (albeit sometimes via Christmas cards), and we'de love to keep them in our lives FOREVER (too stalkerish?). We know quality stock when we see it (and S was such a cute, funny, well- behaved guest...great future material, I'm sure).
Here's the kicker: if kids get one whiff of this idea, it will never happen. There's no stronger ardor repellent than the maternal words "what about that nice [last name] boy?" for killing the passion in a young girl's heart.
So, instead. A holiday together here, a taped up Christmas card there. Exchanging e-mail addresses. One must start so early. Mrs. Bennet would be so proud.
