Saturday night we were at our friends' Final Four party. They've had this party for four or five years now, so it has become a tradition. These are the same friends who invited us to their son's bris -- which shall henceforth be known as the (wait for it...wait for it...) Final Foreskin party.
Avery found a friend at the party right away. His name was Dominic and he was the same age, so of course they were BFFs. They found a play house and a picnic table and chairs and decided that they were going to play "mommy and daddy" in the yard. Canetto and I took turns supervising, and they totally ignored us as they went on to provide their interpretation of the fun! and exciting! lives that mommies and daddies apparently lead.
First, they'd run into the house. Then, they'd "go to work" (by sitting at the picnic table and pretending to type on a computer), then they'd go back into the house and "go potty" on some plastic chairs they had put inside the house. I kept hearing this conversation:
"Time to go to work" (run to picnic table, pretend to type)
"Time to go home" (run into play house)
"Time to go potty" (sit on plastic chairs, describe bodily evacuation)
And then they'd start the cycle over again. My first thought was, "that is so cute...mimicking what we do during the day." My second thought was to weep into my beer.
2 comments:
Well she's learned to be a cynic at an early age. That's good. No use having her dreams dashed against the rocks of reality: this is what you have to look forward to, kid. The going potty is the best part of it all. Although if you have the right characters on the bus, the going to work/home part can be entertaining.
She's old enough to start drinking now.
And on the plus side—it's not unheard of for some organization to pay me twenty bucks to [go Number 2]. So forget "setting the bar low," I say that's a pretty great floor from which to rise.
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