Yesterday when I picked up Lou after work (right at five even though I insist on putting down 4:45 in the scheduling system, like that makes me a better parent... I don't work till 5, c'mon, I totally balance my work/family life) there was a dad, trying to get his daughter dressed to go home.
He was failing miserably. The little girl, older than Lou, probably four-ish, was bawling and didn't want anything to do with mittens, hats, socks.... or her dad.
He didn't look like he wanted anything to do with the whole deal either, but that's the deal with being a parent... you don't get to choose. Meltdowns are reserved for the kiddos, you just ball it up inside and save it for the heart attack.
Lou tried to help, picked the mittens up off the floor several times and tried to put them on the girl's hands, without luck. Partly because the girl didn't want the mittens, but also because Lou honestly didn't do a very stellar job.
Anyways, the whole situation was just special because
A) Lou tried really hard to help out, and even though she's a sweet kid she's definitely no saint so that made me surprised and proud.
B) the dad working up to a heart attack made me feel all sorts of sympathy for him. Because I've been there, it could have been me and this day it just happened to be him instead. But he also made me feel kind of grateful for making my kid look good and also turning my feeling of"godammit I'm always fifteen minutes late" into "ha, well at least I'm not that guy!"
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