On summer break I went to visit them in Orange County. One of the overarching impressions from my trip was that of lines. There were lines to get gas, to get on the interstate, and then to move on the interstate. There were lines at restaurants and grocery stores. There were lines everywhere.
I decided lines were not for me.
The other day I reached down and grabbed F.G.'s wrist and ankle and began to swing her back and forth. After a few swings I let go of her ankle and she landed on her feet and hurried to the back of the line. Yes, the line. In the 5.3 seconds of swinging, word went out to all corners of the house that dad was doing something fun with somebody. Now there were six waiting expectantly in line.
Given my shoulder issues, I had F.G. leave the back of the line. While I was pretty sure I could manage six swinging sessions without an ER run, I knew twelve was out of the question.
The other day we were eating ice cream at a local shop and Ed asked me to take a picture of her with Brutus. I obliged. Then came all of the rest.
Notice: From this point forward if a child is waiting to wash his/her hands at a sink and there are three or more siblings in front of said child, said child shall be obligated to leave the line and find a different sink at which to wash his/her hands.
Having decided that lines were not for me and now living with lines in my own home is probably just further proof of God's sense of humor. It is just too bad it is at my expense.