"You've never had a me before"

Last Sunday night found my colleagues, family and I enjoying a rather outrageously decadent meal at Chico. Chris thought it would be fun to take the girls to a fancy dinner, and he was right. They lived it up, right down to the tradmark Chico orange flambé dessert.

The night passed slowly, and lateness crept up on us so that out of the clear blue it was 10 o'clock and we were still at our table, poking at each other's food and telling jokes. Just as we were about to wrap things up, Walter Link, our retreat facilitator and mindfulness/meditation advisor arrived, starving from his multi-day journey from Amsterdam. An elk chop was rounded up, and a second wind lifted our collective sails. That is, all of our sails except Stella's. She was so done, and let us know through pouts, snorts and heavy sighs. I scooped her up and carried her along the path and up the hill to our cabin. Stella's so competent that I sometimes forget how young she is; her meltdowns are rare enough that they're endearing to me, offering a chance to baby and comfort her.

Apparently, what threw her over the edge was her perception that Zoey was getting all the attention.

"I know it's hard," I said. "Kids her age get a lot of attention. And when you were four, you got so much of that too."

Even in her totally strung-out and exhausted state, she had insights to share.

"Yeah," she said. "But you just don't get it. You've had a four-year old before so you know what to do, but you've never had a me before. You've never had an eight-year old."

I tried to give her that line about how all of our presidents and astronauts are first children, that there's a benefit to all the downsides of paving the way. She got it, but she didn't want it. What she wanted was for me to hold her until she fell asleep. The pleasure was all mine.