Last night, Janet needed to hit the grocery store and Target, so I stayed home and played with the kids. We hung some more stuff on the tree, made dinner together and watched a SpongeBob. After a rollicking bath, we read books and they went to bed. Now, when I lay in bed with each of my chilluns, I try to bond a little before shutting the light off and slipping out of the room. "What did you work on today at school?" or, "Who did you play with?" are just a couple of the FAQs.

But, I never get anything "juicy" during these moments -- until now.

I'm lying face-to-face with my 4-year-old daughter, and she's being her normal, tight-lipped self when asked questions about her day. "No, nothing" is her favorite response. God forbid she tells me what letters or numbers she worked on. And after I approach the subject several different ways, I give up. "Okay, give Daddy a kiss good night, and I'll go."

And then she drops the bomb: "Daddy, there's no kissing in the classroom."

"What? There's no kissing in class? Who told you that and why?" I inquired.

"Miss Shannon," she said.

"Why would Miss Shannon tell you that?"

I was afraid to ask.

"Daddy, Malakai is my boyfriend," she giggled.

Someone may as well have planted a steel-toed boot in my gut. I nearly puked.

"Malakai is your boyfriend?" I carefully continued, "Did he kiss you?"

"Yes," she sweetly said. (A second, much harder boot, slams my lower intestinal tract.)

"Did you kiss him?" I asked.

"No."

My head was spinning. I was poisoned and just needed to get up and out of the room or I was going to die in there. I gave her a quick peck on the forehead and said good night. Trying not to make a big deal out of it, I left the room with a smile.

Now, where the hell did I go wrong?

Although I can vividly remember kissing Lori Kleveeter when I was just 5years old, I do NOT remember giving my sweet daughter permission to have emotions, curiosity or hormones for that matter.

When Janet got home, I shared my experience, but she had already heard the news. She didn't exactly see it as dramatically as I had, which calmed my nerves a bit. We went on to discuss the "perp" and decided he IS a nice, little boy -- not to mention we like his parents.

No doubt this event only marks the grand opening to years of boys, relationships and "dirt." I suppose I should feel lucky she shared this with me. I also suppose that dirty dog, Malakai, is lucky I'm a peaceful man. Although I'm wondering: Does Consumer Reports have ratings on double-barrels?