Today we made a visit to the park. Amanda and I slid down the twirly slide, I climbed the monkey bars and Amanda went for a swing.
Her 3 year old son had a good time too.
Amanda is a year and four months older than me, and we grew up like twins. We have the same voice, so much so that once in high school, she got me to break up with her boyfriend over the phone. He was none the wiser.
Last night we stayed up late and drank wine and sat around a fire in her backyard. We talked about ex-boyfriends and lost sweaters and the shitty awesome summer that I was a brace-faced cocktail waitress and she consistently smelled like roast beef because she was a late shift sandwich artist. We laughed in the dark and one of us (I won’t say which) pissed in the woods.
And now, less than 24 hours later, she and her husband have spent an hour in the bathroom trying to manipulate and encourage their son to use the potty. They make up stories about a character named Mighty Marshmallow who loves the potty and they show him instructional Japanese cartoons featuring dancing stool.
And he won’t go.
“This is a God Blessed nightmare.”
Today is my fathers birthday. Tom is 63 years young. He has always been there for me, is a spectacular dancer and gave me my sweet sisters. And at this moment, I am aware that he helped teach me everything that’s most important.
Especially one very important concept which, to be completely honest, must be absolutely insane to a 3 year old.
Happy Birthday Dad. 🙂