Welp, since I’ll be setting up shop in the airport for the umpteenth time in the last month I found a comfy spot to plug into my computer and hack into Pop’s T-Mobile hotspot account … how I remembered the password we may never know. ANYWAY, I strolled past some places where I could have eaten something but in all honestly I’m so sick of takeout none of it made sense even though I’m hungry. I stopped by two news stands and browsed covers for a while but nothing caught my fancy. Finally I got here — and let me just say for the record "here" is at whatever the opposite end of the airport is from where I was and this terminal literally juts out on the runway so I probably walked like three miles today so I’m totally good on exercise (pause for breath) — and I’m camping out comfortably until the masses appear.
There is a lovely family with three wild little boys sitting one row over. When I arrived on the scene they were bouncing a ball around and flopping on the floor like the wild things boys are while Dad sat passively by with his face buried in a newspaper. Mom soon came back with Starbucks in her hand and realized that her brood was out of control and shifted into a gear that I LOVED. Here’s what she said: "Ok BOYS, it’s time to get out your journals and write about our trip to the Gulf Coast." Almost immediately the oldest and the youngest boy started rifling through their backpacks while the middle-born, God bless him, at first claimed that his journal was in another bag, and then when it was found in his backpack (SHOCKING!) he tried to start a game of hangman with both his brothers, his now-snoozing father, and then in desperation, his mother. When that didn’t work, he started negotiating journal entry length: "How about 1 sentence?" His mom replied, "How about nine?" (the original assignment was three sentences). To this there was "Two?" and then there was a happy ending for all when he finally agreed to three and got down to business.
I don’t know why I told you this whole story except to say that when I have my own wild brood (which is expected thanks to the genetic crossing that John and I represent*, not to mention my mother’s favorite explanation: "KARMA, Manda, you’re so busted on THAT one"). I love it. Not one of those boys has a Gameboy out. They were playing and having fun together when I arrived — with of all medieval things a Nerf Ball — and then they wrote in their journals. This woman might be my new hero!! Of course one day when I have a fussy kid (or according to John four) at the airport who is bored and won’t leave me alone to read InStyle magazine I’ll probably bust out a video game and a bag of Blow Pops, but JEESH right now I’m trying to be POSITIVE**!
*Once John’s mother found him hanging by the neck on the swing set. And then there was the time he ended up with dog poop in his hair at his aunt’s wedding. And then there was the time I followed a stranger at the State Fair thinking it was my dad. And then there was the time I threw a massive temper tantrum at my fifth birthday party because I caught my friends out in my driveway riding MY NEW BARBIE BIKE, YOU JERKS!
**By the end of the writing of this post all three boys had run off down the terminal while Dad sleeps on and Mom chats on the phone. I feel better, don’t you?