Sticky Kids

Last week we went to a weeknight festival on the square - food trucks, live music, vendors, balloons, etc. The girls are always pretty worn out after school, but we braved the crowds and potential tantrums and headed up there anyway. The girls loved it of course. But as often tends to happen, I think Roger and I enjoy the idea of the event more than the actual event.

Part of why you move to a town like Roswell is for the family-friendly festivals and nightlife, but in reality, taking two two-year-olds anywhere is a bit of a nightmare. They have absolutely no regard for directions like "Stay close to Mommy and Daddy," or "Don't wander off too far," so we basically end up following our assigned child around until the inevitable meltdown occurs when we scoop them up to return to the spot where the friends we haven't spoken to all evening are hanging out. Good times. Still, I think a little change of pace is good for all of us, and even though it often seems like more trouble than it's worth, it usually doesn't seem nearly as bad in retrospect. Which is why I was kind of surprised when the morning after, Roger says to me, "I was a little unimpressed with our girls last night."

I laughed, "You think? When are they going to stop doing the exact opposite of whatever we tell them?"

Roger nodded in agreement but added, "It's not just that though. I kept seeing all these other little girls in their dresses and their hairbows and then I looked over at ours - Anna digging in the flowerbed and Julie wiping her nose with her shirt. I mean, what's that about?"

I laughed out loud again. "That, my darling husband, is what you signed up for when you married me, I'm afraid. I was most certainly a sticky kid."

"But I wasn't a sticky kid!" he protests. And he's right. His mom still talks about how he never liked to get his hands dirty. (I try not to read too much into that.)

"I guess they had a 50-50 chance either way," I say, trying to be sympathetic. "Is it at all comforting to know that I rarely dig in the dirt or wipe my nose on my shirt anymore? I mean, they'll probably never be all that prim and proper, but I'm pretty sure they will outgrow the 'stickiness' eventually."

"I guess," he sighs.

Better a sticky kid than a princess, if you ask me. But I am, after all, still a sticky kid at heart.