Thursday
3/22/04
Things I Don't Miss
As I write this, I’m sitting in the car while the boys are in Karate. It’s a bright, sunny March day, and yet I must admit that I’m just a little grumpy about having to cool my heels in the car. Then, just to my right I noticed station wagon in which a father had made a pit stop with his toddler-aged daughter. Being just a shade older and wiser than she, I realized immediately that it was a diaper stop. And then, right on cue, chaos began the instant she realized what the stop was all about. Beginning with a high pitched squeal, the wrestling match between father and daughter escalated to near John Wayne/Maureen O’Hara proportions until ultimately the daughter tapped out, having been pinned on the back deck of the wagon.
All the while though, despite the increasing intensity of the shrieking, pleading and wiggling, the diaper bag-wielding dad kept his cool. All it took was two minutes of soothing banter and skilled sleight of hand, and he walked away triumphantly wielding his prize: toddler poo safely ensconced in a plastic shopping bag. He was a pro.
As they drove away, the sun continued to shine brightly, the birds sang, and a strangely quiet sort of peace descended over the parking lot in which I sat. A moment later I remembered with a start that Karate was nearly over and I had to fetch the boys... and it was then that I realized that I wasn’t grumpy anymore. In fact, never again will I grumble about a little chore like driving the boys around, because if nothing else, they've been wiping their own asses for a long time now. And boy, I sure don’t miss that.
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Things I Don't Miss
As I write this, I’m sitting in the car while the boys are in Karate. It’s a bright, sunny March day, and yet I must admit that I’m just a little grumpy about having to cool my heels in the car. Then, just to my right I noticed station wagon in which a father had made a pit stop with his toddler-aged daughter. Being just a shade older and wiser than she, I realized immediately that it was a diaper stop. And then, right on cue, chaos began the instant she realized what the stop was all about. Beginning with a high pitched squeal, the wrestling match between father and daughter escalated to near John Wayne/Maureen O’Hara proportions until ultimately the daughter tapped out, having been pinned on the back deck of the wagon.
All the while though, despite the increasing intensity of the shrieking, pleading and wiggling, the diaper bag-wielding dad kept his cool. All it took was two minutes of soothing banter and skilled sleight of hand, and he walked away triumphantly wielding his prize: toddler poo safely ensconced in a plastic shopping bag. He was a pro.
As they drove away, the sun continued to shine brightly, the birds sang, and a strangely quiet sort of peace descended over the parking lot in which I sat. A moment later I remembered with a start that Karate was nearly over and I had to fetch the boys... and it was then that I realized that I wasn’t grumpy anymore. In fact, never again will I grumble about a little chore like driving the boys around, because if nothing else, they've been wiping their own asses for a long time now. And boy, I sure don’t miss that.
