My husband and I took the kids to Baltimore for the weekend. The Orioles were playing our hometown team, the California Angels, and we thought it would be fun to go to a couple of the games. Kellen and Cortlen (age 5) were very interested in the activities on the field. Camber (age 6), on the other hand, was more interested in hanging on my arm, asking me incessently when we were going to leave, and rifling through the contents of my purse.
"Stay out of there!" I told her for the fifteenth time in as many minutes and swatted her hand away from my stash of breath mints.
It's hard being six, unjustly persecuted, and on the brink of starvation. Against better advice, Camber made the conscious decision to consume all of her snacks and drinks in the top of the first inning.
The whining, the wiggling, and the gnashing of teeth increased in intensity throughout the second and third innings. By the fourth inning, the people around us were beginning to wiggle and gnash their teeth. I took Camber and the baby on a trip to the restroom.
Outside the bathroom was a white tent filled with young women wearing white jeans and lots of eye makeup. Several other similarly dressed women stood at the bathroom exit, handing out perfume-scented coupons for waterproof mascara and pointing female baseball fans in the direction of the tent, where free lip gloss and a complimentary makeover awaited.
The same six-year-old who would not sit still in a stadium seat for more than two seconds waited in line patiently for forty-five minutes for a dab of blush and a free tube of blemish concealer.
We returned to our seats at the bottom of the seventh inning. Immediately after showing her father and brothers her new treasures, the six-year-old announced that she was hot, sweaty, hungry, tired, and probably allergic to the chair in which she was sitting. She scratched and writhed her way through the eighth inning, at which point we decided to call it a night.
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Anyone else torture their children in similar fashion? Do tell!
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