A kiss is just a kiss. Or is it?

Things change when you are 11 and in fifth grade. Friends are definitely where it’s at, and suddenly Mom and Dad aren’t all that and a bag of chips any more.

I have to admit it’s an adjustment, and we are making our way with a tween, who doesn’t just accept what we say any more and is quick with a challenge or a quibble.

Some of the things I have grown to accept — that watching a movie with the family isn’t as much fun as doing Face Time with friends on an iPod. That a Friday night demands an activity, an outing, something because sitting at home just isn’t cool. That when you go out together to a high school basketball game, for example, it doesn’t mean you are actually going to sit together.

I get it.

But there are some things that are a bit harder to  and hurt a bit more.

This morning as I was dropping the kids off, I got my normal kiss and goodbyes from Grace and Lucas and then Ben gave me his cheek. I kissed him and then held out mine for a kiss in return.

But it wasn’t coming.

I said, “Where’s my kiss?”

“Seriously, Mom?” Ben said as he walked out the door.



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