It’s funny what impresses the children these days. Both knew that their sainted mother was giving a big speech in Atlanta, but from their perspective…yawn. Not that they aren’t proud of their mommy, but I’m not the Doctor, and I’m not Anne Hathaway.
“Really?” McIrish said. “What specifically?”
“It was about you,” I answered. “Um…I don’t want to tell you in front of the kids.”
Now McIrish was present for the speech, and he realized immediately what part of it so entertained Barbara Vey, the PW editor who was present. It was for, ah…well. You know. Or you can guess.
So, unfortunately, could the kids. Realization and horror dawned. “Oh, gross!” my son groaned. “Disgusting!”
Princess covered her face with her napkin and pretended to cry (or cried for real, who knows?).
“You should be glad Mommy and Daddy have such a happy marriage,” I said.
“Stop! Stop!” the children begged.
McIrish kissed me. The kids bolted.
“You still have to clean up the kitchen!” I called.
Traumatizing the kids. It’s what parenting is all about.