Don't Go Breakin' My, Don't Go Breakin' My, Don't Go Breakin' My Heart

Yesterday, Griffin killed me. Killed.

As I was unloading the boys from the van at preschool, Griffin's "girlfriend" and her mother parked next to us. The "girlfriend" yelled, "Griffin!" And then Griffin yelled the girlfriend's name.

They ran to each other with sappy love-themed music in the background, caressed and hugged.

Then they walked hand-in-hand all the way to preschool, through the halls and to the classroom together without Griffin giving me one lick of attention.

I knew the day would come. But I didn't expect this behavior until he was a teenager, or at least in middle school. Certainly not at three years old.