Happy Days and Matches

Last night on my way out of Plutos a woman asked me if all 4 kids parading out the door in front of me were mine. "Yep", I said. It was one of those moments, that is bound to happen, when I have all four with me. The interesting thing is while sometimes the sensation of twenty sets of beady staring eyes is toxic, last night's situation was hilarious because I realized that everyone who overheard the exchange was sure that I was a remnant from an extinct clan-- a sort of modern-day June Cleaver. I really wished I was wearing my wake-up-happy-skirt because the overall loveliness would have been too surreal. Or had my sister been with me (pregnant with her sixth) that would have been nice too. Or a woman I know whose eighth child will turn one later this year.

Anyway, we took our food to a nearby park where my oldest found a booklet of matches on a table and became obsessed with the concept of how one goes about lighting them...for the entire meal. The parental irritation at this obsessive temptation to sneak them home was so great that when we discovered one in the sweaty palm of my five year old son (who reportedly said he was going to light it in his bed) Nathan exclaimed that they could have them when they turn 21. At this comment Lizzy moaned, "Ohhh! Now I'll never get them because what if you're dead?" Her sorrow was audible as she jumped out of the car and stomped to the front door and it had nothing to do with the possibility of us being dead.

Having children is funny because the energy around simple things is so intense. In that moment, her 8-year-old mind only wished to own matches and have them at her disposal. And while there are many dull moments with children, the hilarity often exceeds the best comics. Just now George let me know that "at school, they let us fight." "You mean pretend fight?" "No, I mean real fight...isn't that nice that our teachers said we could do that?"