Children should be seen and not heard.
So many adults had or have this mentality pretty much every kid in America knew it by heart.
Kids and adults were often kept separated at parties and family events. It had its perks, but yesterday I was reminded of something.
We sometimes worry about P being an only child. Almost none of our friends have kids P’s age, and those who do live an hour across town, so she doesn’t get to spend much time playing with friends outside school.
So when, at five-and-a-half, she’s the only kid at a pool party, and all our adult friends take turns hanging out and playing with her, it stands out as being particularly awesome.
Sitting outside on the patio, watching The Rundown by the pool, an hour past bedtime, she wasn’t just a kid–she was part of the crew.
I’ve seen this before. That little girl had to work and missed the party, but her husband was there and it was really cool seeing he and P just sitting at the edge of the pool talking like anyone else.
Children should be included. I’m glad the company I keep treats my kid like she belongs there.
We watched a couple average Joe types saunter out to the tarmac, a 9- and 12-year old in tow, and just walk up to a single seat plane like they belonged there.
I thought, “Oh shit. The gate wasn’t secure. They’re about to have a real bad time.”
You know, because they didn’t look like airplane owners.
Until they all climbed into the small plane parked next to it, fired it up like it was a common car, and rolled on out with one arm out the pilot’s window.
It wasn’t a new machine, either. Faded blues and polished aluminum, weathered and loved, not the fastest or prettiest thing, but generally regarded as a decently styled, easily serviced workhorse.
It was the 1977 Dodge Monaco of airplanes.
And then it was like, those are regular guys and they belong there. Which means I could belong there too if I prioritized taking action on that dream.
And it’s been a dream of mine to fly since you knew someone who drove a 1977 Dodge Monaco. Way, way back before Top Gun and Iron Eagle.
And that’s when P says, “Look Daddy! Those boys are riding in that airplane!” And then, disappointed, “I wish YOU could drive an airplane.”
Three separate drinks of water.
Half a dozen stuffed buddies,
Fresh into rotation.
This is the tenth time I’ve gone to bed in the last hour. Why were you just about fine all day and only an hour past bedtime does every excuse in the book come out?
You’re crying because I didn’t come right back in here immediately after bringing you a tissue–to put it on your night stand?
I love Mommy too. AND all the sweet stuff she does. But it’s pushing 11 and, damnit, this is desperate business and I guess she is legitimately sick.
Albuterol. Common pharmacy name for caffeinated adrenaline steroid mist.
Or some shit like that.
Would have been nice if the doctor said, probably not a good idea within six hours of bedtime.
Side effects may include hypertension, earaches, insomnia, and general psychosis.
OMFG. So rough today.