No Promises

It is that time again, wherein I post every day for a month to make up for posting only once during each 29-31 day cycle the rest of the year. I've participated in National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) several times now. Two separate Novembers ended in the fulfillment of my daily-posting obligation; only one November met with failure sometime around Thanksgiving. I'm confident that this year will be another success story.

Sometimes, though, confidence is misplaced and a little honesty would serve me better. I realize this in theory. The other day I witnessed a more practical approach.

My friend was frazzled at the library as she chased her four year old son and his wild friend who, she was startled to realize, had never before visited any hallowed institution of reading. The two boys--led by the unconsecrated one--tore through the aisles as they screamed and shrieked and demanded cartoon DVDs. My friend looked at The Boss, standing demurely in the children's book section, and weakly suggested a trade. I laughed a little too hard. Sometimes I lack empathy.

Finally, we all exited the library together. My friend's hair was actually standing up, the curls frizzing above brows gone berserk. I would've felt bad for her, but I knew the playdate would be over in a half hour.

"Boys, next time we come back to the library, you are going to have to be better behaved," she said.

I did a double take. Come back? Some people never learn.

Her son nodded his shaggy blond head as he climbed into his car seat. Then the other boy leapt over the center console into the driver's spot, where he grabbed the steering wheel and began to rev his verbal motor in the absence of the car key. Spit flew.

She prodded him. "Next time you'll have to be a bit quieter, and you'll have to walk more slowly."

He shrugged and, with a sure self-awareness that belied his four years, laid it on the line there in the parking lot. "No promises," he said. No promises.