***Names of the innocent have been changed.  Names of the not-so-innocent have not.***

As a parent, I have planned for some big conversations – the beginning and end games ones: explanation that the kids’ dad and I were getting divorced; contemplation of introducing a new boyfriend to them one day.  I’ve been thoughtful when it comes to these easy black and white markers of life.  What I’ve forgotten, and what constantly takes me by surprise, are the conversations that happen in all the gray area – the vibrant middle space – between these markers.

Here’s one of those gems.

I had just finished a workout, and was getting ready for a business dinner for a passion project I’m working on outside of my day job.  Wanting a refresh to my wardrobe but not wanting to find the budget that would correlate, I had sorted through my closet to find something “new”, some item of clothing that I forgot about, but that would also still look current, relevant, and cute.  Though approaching Fall, it was warm (I live in Los Angeles, so “Fall” isn’t really the right term for the approaching season), and I wanted something almost, but not, quite summery.  Not easy to find in a sea of black.  Neither a short dress nor jeans appealed to me.  Did I even have anything else?

A light hue of purple, not quite lavender, not quite mauve, caught my eye.  A capri jumpsuit with spaghetti straps on top, an open back with criss cross straps on top, a zipper up the front with a tie at the waist.   It was perfect, but I hadn’t worn it in over a year a half – not since a romantic rainy night in Havana, Cuba – so I wondered if it would still look good, and I paused remembering I liked the jumpsuit, but hadn’t liked the strapless bra I had worn with it.   I stepped into it, and it was a more snug in the thighs than I remembered – just slight enough to not know whether it was because my thighs were a little bigger or the material had shrunk with the last wash.  As I zipped it up, I saw the snugness of the legs actually made it look better – made the rest of it fit just that much better.  I pulled the capri length pant legs up to underneath my knee, and it was flawless.  Even better than last time I wore it.  I put on my newish bright blue halter bra with the thinnest straps, giving the purple a pop of blue.  I loved it. But what shoes would I wear? I tried each of my go-to tan colored shoes – sandals, boots, wedges – and nothing quite worked.  I found a strappy pair of black wedges, rarely, if ever worn – as new as existed in my closet.  I’d accomplished my goal: I was wearing something new despite having bought the items four years ago.

Finishing my hair and makeup, I was hurrying to get out of the house.  The dinner would only take about an hour or two, and my kids were going with their dad for the night.  I had some options for some dates and fun after dinner, but hadn’t fully committed, both wanting to keep my options open but also not knowing how I would feel.  As I did a scan of finished self in my bedroom mirror I thought, wow!, I look great.  My body tingled with a feeling of beauty and subtle sexiness, and I immediately knew I would firm up one of those after dinner plans while I Uber-ed to my meeting.

As I hustled downstairs like a New Yorker with somewhere to be and grabbed my purse, my front door opened.  I quickly heard the chatter of Kai, Sasha and Gemma; the patter of their happy feet.  They were coming in to grab their stuff for the weekend with their dad.  Excited that I got to give them a hug before the weekend, I looked up to see which one would walk in the door first so I could heap my love out in just the way they each individually like.

“OOOHHHH, NOOOOOO.  Mommy, you look different.  Whhhhaaat.  Sasha, come look at Mommy.”  It’s Gemma, frozen in her tracks right at the open door.  “You can’t go out like that. You look TOO good.” Her dramatics make me smile, as does the blurry but visceral idea that she is reacting as much (more) to how I feel as how I look.

I hear footsteps speed up and get less graceful, less quiet outside.  Sasha rushes in, stopping right by Gemma as if an invisible and powerful fence existed.  “Oh, NO.  NO.  You look too good.  What is going on?  You cannot go out like that.  All the boys will fall in love with you.”  Whether Sasha agrees with Gemma because they are from the same egg, or they truly agree, I can never quite tell, even in this moment.  A glimmer like sun reflecting on water comes out of Sasha’s eyes.

“Eric is your boyfriend.”  I don’t have a boyfriend despite Gemma’s insistence otherwise (and her decision to, unbeknownst to me, post a picture of this Eric gentleman on my Instagram stories and text him from my phone).  “You can’t do this.  He won’t be happy.  You can’t wear that.”  Eric, a man they know I speak with, lives in a different city.  We haven’t spent more than a few hours together, simply talking over coffee and food and with smiles, since we met.  That we like each other, but are only friends, at most, is lost on them. They simply don’t believe it. They don’t focus at all on the other man I’d been speaking with as frequently, seeing more frequently, who lives here in this city.  When I’ve asked them why this is so on prior nights, Gemma has said, “Because I know Eric is your boyfriend.”  Sasha says, “The other one doesn’t send you all the love emojis.”  Kai never answers, pretending to be stumped.

I have no time to respond before Sasha echoes, “Eric won’t like this at all.  He is not here to protect you from all the guys falling in love with you.  You can’t do this.  Nooooo.”

I am trying to decide if I should remind them Eric is not my boyfriend or remind them that I don’t need protected, and before I can even form a thought about the existence of this decision, Sasha dives for my legs.  She tries to pull the capri length pant legs positioned just beneath my knees down over my calves.

“Sasha, those are my calves.  It is okay for my calves to show.” I had much more to say, but I had to focus on the physical activity at hand.  Her frantic hands keep pulling on my left pant leg, then my right, as I fend her off. I liked the tightness of the legs and she’s stretching out the material before I’m even out the door!

Kai walks in as I’m physically and verbally trying to get Sasha to stop.  “OH MAN.  Why is your hair so nice?’, he moans.

“My hair is always nice when I’m going out.”

He didn’t agree or disagree.  He just dropped his backpack and instantly began gently tugging at my spaghetti straps, trying to get the jumpsuit straps to stay perfectly over the electric blue thin bra strap.  I get the feeling he is doing this partially because he feels it the right thing to do, and partially to join in with his sisters. He had a look of deep concern in his eyes, but also something I recognized as admiration, longing and a day dream. I had at least four hands fiddling with my outfit that I don’t want fiddled with, while Gemma remained frozen with her mouth agape.

“Buddy, it’s okay.  The straps are supposed to show.  It’s okay.”

Kai stayed silent, though let his hands stop tugging at my straps, still tingling with a pulse of energy he didn’t quite know what to do with. Some inquisitive thought seemed to be forming in his mind, but Sasha was still ferociously pulling at my jumpsuit, trying to get it stretched longer down my legs, expanded over more of my chest, find material to cover my arms where none existed.  Her scratchy voice adamant behind her words.  “Mommy, you look too good.  You can’t show all your pieces.  I need to hide all the pieces.”

“Sweet thing, I am fine. I look nice, and this outfit makes me feel good.  It’s not inappropriate. And not that it matters, but I have a sweater for later but it’s hot now.”  Wait, isn’t that supposed to be a position statement a teenager makes to her parents? I’m teaching them these words, these positions, without even realizing it.  Will I be upset with myself in a few years? (No, I won’t.)

Gemma kept talking about Eric.  “He is not going to like this unless you are going out to dinner with him.”

“Sweet thing, I am not.  He does not live in this city and he will not be upset. I promise you I will let you know if….” (I was about to take three minutes to explain that I would let them know if I had a boyfriend, that I would be honest, that I would not keep them in the dark…..Silly of me to think I had even three seconds to respond.)

She cut me off, disagreeing, “He will.”  I see her day dreaming too, and feel these magic little thoughts coming from her mind. I want to hear the story she’s telling herself (if you’ve ever heard the happiness room story, you know her stories are dreamy and good….and if you haven’t, you one day will).  But right this moment I have a meeting to get to.

Kai put his thought together and almost spoke on top of Gemma. “Mom, I’ve never seen that outfit. Is it new?”

“No buddy, I’ve had it for four years but haven’t worn it in quite some time.  I found it in my closet because I wanted something different.”  He keeps track of me closely.  Always.

Not quite believing me, he asked “When was the last time you wore it?”

“When I went to Cuba actually, the last time.  So almost two years!”

I had thought that statement would resolve the questions being thrown at me and the hands trying to get the jumpsuit to cover more of me than it ever could.

It didn’t.

In unison, two little girl voices – one scratchy and one surprisingly poised — shouted, simultaneously, “NOOOOOOOOO. YOU FELL IN LOVE IN CUBA.  ALEX FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU IN CUBA.  NOOOO.” They continue shouting “fall” “fell” “love” “hearts in the eyes,” but it is just sounds jumping all around.

In the midst of the sounds, Sasha fell to her knees, “Your clothes are haunted with love. You can’t wear them. They are haunted.”  Words of protest, but there was a shine coming from her eyes.  A literal sparkle coming out of them, floating in the air.  Gemma’s smile remained like a jewel, coyly glimmering at all the different angles.  I flashed back to something she wrote in kindergarten, stating that my house was like a castle where love floated in the air.  Kai kept touching my hair, deciding what he wanted to say, but with a peacefulness, rather than any confusion, exuding from him.  Gemma leaned down, pretending to nurse Sasha back to standing, but she remained on her knees.

“Sweet things, it is fine. I am going to a business dinner with Damon, then I am not sure what I’ll do after that yet.  But it is fine. I am allowed to wear things that I like and that make me feel good, even if I did have a boyfriend, which I don’t.”  Foolishly, again, I thought that would resolve things; I thought with the facts, all true, the conversation would end.  They have met my friend Damon, they know I am working with him.  I believe that now that they know I won’t be with a stranger – and with someone they even know! – they will realize they don’t need to worry my clothes haunted with love and the potential impact of these haunted clothes on unsuspecting strangers.

“NOOOOOOOO.”  Sasha falls all the way to the ground, laying on her side with her hand on her forehead.  “Damon is going to FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

“Sweet girl, he is not.  Damon and I are friends and this is a work meeting.” Behind Sasha, Gemma is now in a backbend, her upside down face looking my way and her feet taking turns trying to touch the door handle.  “Gems, what are you doing.”

“I am human locking the door.”  How was I supposed to respond to that?

Sasha talked from her horizontal spot on the ground.  “He is.  He is already in love with you.  You have to stop.  You can’t go out.  You have to change.  You have to pull your hair up.  You have to change your shoes.  Damon is going to fall in love with you and then he is going to fight with Eric. Does he know how to fight?” The questions always stretch out to the periphery of the relevant as I’m still trying to get my mind to come up with a response to the very first statement.

“Sweet girl, please stop.  You guys are being silly. No one is fighting.”  Among the words of protest and fighting, all this joy is emanating around the tiny entrance way that I am trying to exit and they are trying to enter.  The joy they all feel while talking and thinking about love is incapable of being hidden, even by words like “no,” “stop,” “can’t”, “fight” and the dramatic boneless body on the ground and the one arched in a backbend to human lock the door.  “Plus, this is important, so listen: Anyone who falls in love with me, it won’t be because of my clothes or how I look.  It will be because I’m smart and funny and kind and being myself. Even if I change my clothes, that doesn’t change! I can’t hide those pieces of me!”  Wow, I’m proud of myself that I had the wherewithal to take advantage of this teaching moment and make that very solid point.  Incredibly solid.  I instantly relish in my parenting abilities.

Simultaneous with my pride, there is silence. A split second where they are digesting this fact of which I’m so proud.  I’m teaching them something!

“Um, not to be mean, Mommy, but, ummmmm,” the left side of Sasha’s mouth scrunches up and she quickly but only slightly lifts her head from the ground.  “You aren’t that funny. Sorry, so, um, yeah.” Aside from the slight tilt of her head, her body remained still as could be.  Somehow Gemma, meanwhile, had gotten back on two feet.

“SWEET THINGS.  Enough. I AM funny.” I need to make this point above all others, apparently.  “But I also need to leave.  Let me give you each a kiss. Sasha get up.”  I kiss each of their foreheads.  Kai with a mature but kind smile, gives me a tight hug in return, one he can’t restrain.  I feel him saying that he gives me permission to go, but to remember he is my original.  The girls keep talking, even as I pull Sasha up to standing to kiss her forehead.  “Eric isn’t going to like this. I am going to text him.” (I look at them with a look that says if you do that again, I will go crazy, which is exactly what they want me to do.)  “You shouldn’t go out like this.”  “What are you going to do with all the boys that fall in love with you.”  “Will you tell them that they can’t look at you.” “Will you give them your phone number.”  “Are those shoes comfortable?” “Why is your bra strap blue and not black?”  “How did you get your hair to look more blond tonight?” “Where is your meeting?”

I hopped into my Uber car pool, all of the kids waving to me with big smiles from the front porch, the girls mouths still moving. Laughter floated through the air all around the neighborhood – if your soul is sensitive, you could feel it was much as hear it.  Kai inspected each of the men in the car – the driver and two passengers, both men – as if to study their immediate reaction to me, believing his eyes on me would keep me safe but also let him recognize if one of them instantly fell in love with me.  I say hello as I climb in, but the car remains silent with passengers uninterested in talking (this is LA, of course).  I’m left with time to digest, and try to put words around, these infinitely amazing feelings that got into that car with me:

Pride, and awe, in knowing that my kids cannot fathom that not every man would fall in love with me;

Hope, and a deep-down-core knowing, that their view of my love-ableness reflects their view of their own love-ableness;

Happiness, at the joy pulsating through that (very) chaotic three minutes;

Magical, that my internal reality created the external reality;

Love, inside of me, coming out, boundlessly.

I laughed, knowing that I was completely unprepared for this conversation.  And, then, I went on about my night, beautifully haunted by love.

(Post Script: I had arrived to the neighborhood for dinner early, as I’m always early.  Before my dinner, this magical woman approached me and wanted to read my cards “as to do so would be a tremendous favor” to her.  I let her.  It was magic, she knew everything, about everything, about everyone: the kids, Damon, Eric, the other one that kids don’t care about, all others, work, life.  So, maybe the jumpsuit really is *haunted*. I am going to wear it more often.)