Love On The Playground

Not too long ago, we switched our boys over to a different daycare facility. It was not a move made for the sake of convenience or budgetary concerns, for in truth, sacrifices have been made in both of those areas in order to make this possible. No, this was a move borne out of frustration and dissatisfaction with the place where our boys had previously been spending their weekdays. And while my commute is a bit longer and our bank account more likely to be carried away by a strong gust, my wife and I are in staunch agreement that it’s all totally worth it. The staff members have much more positive attitudes, almost as if they *gasp* want to be there. The art projects that they bring home look a lot more interesting and challenging. When I pick the boys up, they’re playing outside instead of crowding around a television. And so far, nobody has misspelled either of their names.

I mean really, have you ever met anybody named Herny*?

We were initially concerned about our boys leaving behind their old teachers and friends and starting over at a new place, but it turns out that all such concerns were completely unfounded. Not only do our boys like their new teachers, not only have they developed new groups of friends with whom to frolic and play and create and destroy and create again, but on top of it all, my eldest child has somehow managed, in this crazy fucked-up world, to discover his one true love. Yes, my friends, my little boy has found his beloved. He is engaged and will soon wed.

He announced it at dinner time. “Alley and me and getting married!” Those brown eyes of his, gifts from his mother, beamed with the kind of angelic glow usually found only on the faces of the very young and/or the criminally demented. He had mentioned this Alley chick before in tones that suggested affection, but so far, the only real facts that we’ve been able to ascertain about this little lady is that she’s inhabited this planet for five years, whereas my boy has been around for only four and some change. So yeah, an older gal.

“I sure hope Alley’s parents are planning on paying for this shindig.” said my wife. We haven’t had a chance to talk to them about it yet. In fact, as of this writing, we haven’t even met Alley or her parents. Perhaps our little man is too embarrassed to introduce his soulmate to his family. Maybe he’s worried that Dad will fart or his little brother will tell her repeatedly that he’s pooping, as he is wont to do.

I wonder where they’re going to live. Henry’s bed converts into a bunkbed, so I guess that’s one option. In fact that brings up a whole other question. Don’t they know what year it is? They can’t just get married. They have to co-habitate first. Hell, they don’t need to get married at all. They can just shack up. Unless, of course, they want to register and rake in an assload of wedding gifts. Can you imagine taking a couple of little kids to register? Imagine walking the aisles of Target with the happy couple while one of them carries that little barcode scanner.

“I want this.”

“And this!”

“Andthisandthisandthisand--!”

“Gimme!”

“I wanna do it!”

“Gimme it!”

“Miiiiine!”

Next thing you know they’re fighting over the scanner. Screaming. Crying. Wedding’s off.

But take heart, son. You were too good for her, there are other fish in the sea, life goes on, and a million other cliches that are all true. Over the next few decades, you’ll probably find your true love many times over.

And should you ever get married, don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t have a bouncy castle at your wedding.

*Yes, this really happened. Several times.