I have a crush.

A sweet, secret, hang-out-with-our-kids-at-the-park, crush.

When I see him, my heart does its best impersonation of a two year old having a spastic temper tantrum.

I worry when I’m in his vicinity, that I act too eager. Talk too fast. Stare too intently into his kind, blue eyes. Fear that I may spontaneously transform into a giggly pimple-faced teenage girl if he accidently lets his hand graze over mine for a nanosecond when he insists on paying for my coffee.

It’s be a looooooong time since I have felt…..well, felt for someone like this. And although I haven’t been a ‘nun’, it’s been since I met Jeff and became good friends that I have had these sorts of stirrings of ‘something more’.

I don’t know, however, if I am just so pathetically lonely that I am making my vision of our ‘relationship’ more than it is in reality…..Or if he is giddy and excited too when he sees my mini-van pull up outside the school gate.

I am SO out of practice and so overly….excited that I am afraid to move in any direction for fear of wrecking the perfect, sweet, ‘G’ rated thing we’ve got going on…..But, oh, if I had the guts…..

So maybe, tonight, I’ll lay in my bed and do the strangest thing a wife could possibly do. I’ll ask my (dead) husband’s advice on dating. And maybe in the morning, he’ll have enlightened me in my sleep.