Anyway, Molly tried to play along, but wasn't really getting it. So, she kept asking if they would play camp-out, which is what we were playing on our driveway. We had sticks and were roasting pretend marshmallows over my amazing chalk-drawn campfire, and we were pretending to sleep under the stars. She really wanted to have some other kids play with her. The boys were not having it and just kept ignoring her. She finally gave up, came over to me, sat in my lap in front of our "campfire" and cried. And, then I wanted to cry.
But, have no fear. This isn't a poor-me blog post about my daughter getting left out of the boys' games. Because although Molly wasn't allowed to play with those little boys, she does have an amazing knack of getting adult boys to do what she wants. Enter into the story: a friendly barbecue at our friends Emily and Ryan's house. Now, among the group of people there, Cory and I, well, we have a little more life experience than the others. Or, as Cory says, we are the old-farts they allow to hang out with them. I personally prefer my terminology. Potato - Potahto.