I, myself, was a grump. Certifiable. I came home tired and itchy and allergy riddled, alongside a prolonged problem with my appetite that is driving me nuts (namely, that it is totally unrelated to actual stomach hunger and need for food). Thinking sleep might help I cuddled up with Olive for a nice little nap, but as all 3 year olds do, she napped shorter today when I needed her to nap longer. It’s a superpower they have, I think. I woke up grumpier.
Our crazy, shrill doorbell buzzed and as I grumped, groused and harrumphed Olive spoke out the window with our neighbor about going out to play. Which, of course, meant I would have to go out to play, because a 3 year old cannot be trusted – even in the company of a nine year old. I yanked on her tennies, gathered my keys and a magazine that I intended to torture myself with by staring at and not being able to read for kid-watching, and stomped down the stairs.
Aurora, for her part, was warm and friendly. And while I should have been grateful that this sweet, much-older girl had any interest in spending time with my preschooler, I was short and clipped and stodgy. Like the old hag all wicked witches come disguised as. And this little girl with long, flowing blonde hair convinced me that we should walk to the park – where she then proceeded to play with Olive for the next hour and a half, watching out for her and coming up with games they could play. I, for my part, was left to read my beloved magazine without interruption and only an occasional cursory glance around the playground.
I never even had the chance to pull out any apples, and the ugliness and grumpiness dribbled right on out of me.
And we all lived happily ever after.