My 6 year old may have just had a birthday, but he is already going on 80. A big ol’ stick in the mud. Party pooper. Sour puss. With all the “Ugh, Mommy”s and glares I get when I say something he deems “embarrassing”, I swear most days I am more of a kid than he is. What the hell happened to my obnoxiously fun-loving, dare-devil, must do it all and see it all no matter how dangerous, little boy? Who is this grumpy old man that took his place?
I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me lately, because as much as I revel in the chance to be lazy, at the same time- I can’t stand it! I cannot sit around doing nothing. I get antsy. When it comes to the weekend, instead of lounging in my pajamas (how magical does that sound?) I HAVE to get out of the house. I have to be active! I need to be doing something! I need to not be stuck indoors! Holden’s response? “Ugh. I don’t wanna go anywheerrrreeee”
Of course, he has no choice in the matter, so we go out regardless of his disagreements, and the whole time we’re out, he complains that he wants to go home. His legs feel broken. He’s allergic to walking. His shoes are too heavy. He’s tired. SHUT YOUR FACE, GRANDPA!
This weekend, we were all feeling particularly antsy and were looking for ANY excuse to stay out of the house. With cold rainy weather, anything outdoors was out of the question. Parker suggested The Bouncy House, which is a place full of (duh) bouncy houses, but the idea was quickly shot down because those mofos don’t let adults bounce. Holden shrugged; “I’m too old for The Bouncy House anyway.”
Did I really just hear that? Did he really just say that? TOO OLD to jump in a bouncy house???
Quickly, I turned around and looked him straight in the eye, “you are not!” I snapped, “You are NEVER too old for a bouncy house!” I turned back around and grumbled another “Never!” under my breath as he continued to object.
Six years old is not TOO OLD for a Bouncy House. That’s like saying you’re too old for a Slip & Slide, or a ball pit, or a trampoline, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or spitting watermelon seeds. It’s blasphemy!
I sat in the car, looking out the window as Thomas drove us home. I was supposed to be brainstorming about what in the hell we could do to kill some time instead of sitting around watching TV all day, but I rarely do what I’m supposed to. I was thinking about being old. How old IS too old? Is there actually a TOO OLD for fun stuff? Once you hit a certain age, are you supposed to spend all your time going to wine tastings and taking long strolls by a lake, instead of amusement parks and bouncy houses?
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