Young love. First crush. I recognized the signs. My rough and tough, all boy Little Guy wanted a few play dates with her. He asked me to call her mom just so he could speak with her. Harmless enough for a seven year old. Innocently enough, I complied. Then, the announcement. Actually, it was a whisper one night and it was only for my ears. Little Guy wanted to purchase a necklace, bracelet or ring for his special friend. After all, Valentine's Day was approaching.

I tried talking Little Guy out of it. Who knew what her reaction would be? Suppose she was embarrassed? Suppose he got embarrassed? Would her mother think this was an inappropriate gesture? My sensible, logical, self pointing out all the things that could go wrong did no good. Isn't it my job to protect him? Isn't he a little young?

Little Guy prevailed and took his own $5 to Target to pick out something special. It was a top secret mission. He had it all planned out. He would give it to her on the playground. Sensible, logical me said maybe that wasn't the proper place. Suppose she was mean? Suppose his friends made fun of him? I was worried. He wasn't. Little Guy devised another plan. He would visit her classroom.

Three o'clock pick-up couldn't come quickly enough for me. Her mother and I knew it had happened and were prepared with all the right "mommy speak" to help our children understand the value of their special relationship. Little Guy couldn't wait to tell me how it went ... the opening of the box, his "Happy Valentine's Day" message, her excitement, her thank you and then the gleeful trip to the playground that followed where they played together as usual. So why did his teacher mouth "call me"?

Apparently, it didn't go well. He more or less opened the box, tossed the necklace at her and nearly ran away. And she, being overwhelmed by this gesture from her buddy, decided she could not play with him during recess. That was when he threatened to throw the ball at her head.

When his dear, thoughtful teacher finally pulled him aside, he broke. Tears flowed and flowed. His teacher did the best job she could of explaining Girls and Boys 101, the beginner's course.

That night at bedtime, I had to bite my tongue. After all, he didn't tell me. Little Guy had his first heartache and I was not fit to know. What should I do? I tried a few smart, mommy things, "Little Guy, I am so happy she was nice when you gave her the present because she could have been a little overwhelmed and confused." He said he didn't want to talk about it.

Was I rubbing salt in the wound? I couldn't stop. "You know, girls sometimes act weird when they know you like them. This starts now and goes on forever." His lips puckered a bit. I think I tried to stop, but I wanted him to tell me. I was too far gone. My heart was breaking for his and I needed to know.

Finally, he broke. "I hate her and I want my necklace back."

Now what? I had the confession. I got the true story. And I reopened his wound. Right before bed, too. How could I fix it? Wasn't it my fault in the first place? She was his buddy, his playmate. It had not been about "boy and girl," but I had helped change that. I just knew he would continue to be embarrassed and angry and that she would never get over it. I rationalized it and talked about it until the constant one-sided chatter put him to sleep.

The next day, Little Guy watched her get out of her car. He ducked behind the front seat. He said he was embarrassed. Was that Little Guy talking or mom? He watched her walk up the hill. Little Guy mustered up his strength and followed quietly. All I could do was watch him go.

But an odd thing happened by the end of the day. Little Guy and she were over it. By pick-up, all was fine. No problems, no meanness, just friendship once again.

So children really do bounce back. But does mom?