Wednesday, October 21, 2009

*wise a.

I sat on a baby Monday night. Or in this case, the world's most precocious 4-year-old.

angel hair.

We played dog (with yours truly as veterinarian), we played hide and seek (in which the rules are: A counts to 26 at warp speed while K counts slowly to, for some reason, 12. One can tag A before he gets to "base," but it will be rendered "not fair"), and we read three of the world's longest books (because I was halfway through the second one before I realized he'd genuinely chosen the lengthiest ones he could find). For the record, they were Amelia Bedelia and the Baby, The One in the Middle is the Green Kangaroo, and the ominously titled We're Not Best Friends Anymore.

In the latter, the friendship cracks under the pressure of that age-old dilemma: umbrella tent or pup tent. Harsh words are spoken (there is copious use of the word "dumb"), a state of affairs about which A was none too pleased.

A, thoughtfully: "You know what I would do, if I were in this book?"

K, thrilled as always that this kid is so darn smart: "What's that?"

A, with conviction: "I'd punch them both in the face."

There was sidelong glancing that followed, a gauging of my reaction, which was mostly contorted face to prevent an outburst of laughter.

It took me a lot longer in my life to get to that point, where you understand that sometimes people are too caught up in their petty, myopic squabbles to take a look around and realize that they need to gain a little compassion and a little perspective and maybe, just maybe, to pick a goddamn tent already.

I'd punch them both in the face, too.




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I am a work in progress. I perpetually need a hair cut. I'm totally devoted to my remarkable nieces and nephew. I am an elementary home cook and a magazine worker bee. (Please criticize my syntax and spelling in the comments.) I think my dog is hilarious. I like chicken and spicy things. I have difficulty being a grown-up. Left to my own devices, I will eat enormous amounts of cheese snacks of all kinds.