...field pilates...

My 12 year old cousin has a boyfriend - she is crazy about him, and every night on MSN (at least so her name tells me), she is "thinkn of him", surrounded by hearts and swirly things. I do what any responsible cousin would do: ask her to tell me everything. This is what I have gathered:

He is three days older than her.
He has both ears pierced.
He skateboards and snowboards.
He boards at a private school in Aurora.
And, like, he is so hot.

She emails me his picture, and I'm floored. The kid is hot. And the piercings aren't your ordinary piercings, they're spiked spacers. He is a punk, I am sure of it, seeing his cocky smile and wide brown eyes. A heart-breaker in the making. "Does your mom know?" I ask, grinning. "Of course, he's my freakin boyfriend. She has to know".

Good. For. Her.

I grill her about his height, weight, heritage, what his parents do, where he lives - "Hey, why are you asking all these questions"?, she wants to know. Easy. So I can recognize him, and proceed to kick his butt. "Hey! Not cool!" The proverbial middle school protest - not cool.

I love her, she is my favorite person. I am glad that she told her mother. I am glad the harshest word in her vocabulary is "freakin". I am glad that "boyfriend" at 12 means they met at a dance, and haven't seen each other since.

"But, like we're both trying to set up a date that we can make. And there's another dance in March, and I'll see him there".

Today is a good day.