On Thursday we went to the park (We were supposed to go to the science museum, because the deal was if V finished all her homework for the week by Wednesday then we would do what she wanted on Thursday and what she wanted was the museum. She finished, and we made a big deal of going to the museum mid-week – “Isn’t this great! We get to go to the SciPort on a school night! We have all this time for fun stuff because Violet already finished her homework! Isn’t this fantastic!” Then we get down there and the parking lot we usually park in is full of tents – some big festival thing is going on. No problem, we’ll park in the lots behind the museum… no, wait… they have big “VIP Parking ONLY!” signs in them. Hmm. How about in this Holiday Inn parking lot that’s about 1/4 mile from the museum? Hmmm. “Hotel parking ONLY! NO festival parking! Violaters WILL BE TOWED!” Hmph. Maybe I can go around to the other side of the SciPort and find parking over there? No? Road closed? Hell. Seriously – I drove around for 15 minutes trying to get within a mile of the damn place, but when it started raining I gave up. Ridiculous.) after Joe got home from work. As the four of us were walking away from the car, he broke out into TMBG’s Alphabet of Nations (“Zimbabweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”) Violet whipped around and said “Stop it! Daddy! Please stop!” while looking left, right, north, and south to make sure nobody but us had heard him.
She was embarrassed.
The kid who used to encourage us to “Do the tushy dance!” in the middle of Target. The kid who demanded countless songs and games waiting for food in restaurants. The kid who has been putting the tiara she’s tired of on Joe’s head while walking through the mall for the past 5 years, was embarrassed.
Awesome. Let the torture begin.
Here comes trouble! 