Yesterday at the restaurant a family of three ate outside. The dad came inside to have a beer, leaving the two-year-old boy and mom at the table and secretly ordering a second which he downed after dinner.
As they left he said, "We made a mess. That's the legacy of a two-year-old. It's like having six drunk people over."
I was left to pick up chips and french fries from the sidewalk, wipe honey mustard off the table, and clean the dad's mess of salsa and chips from his section of the table.
All the while, I was wondering, "Do I want to invite six drunk people over to live with me for at least eighteen years? Would I love them always?"
Yes, on both counts. A scary yes, but yes nonetheless.