This afternoon R. and I took the girls, and their mate Ella from up the road, to Shrek 3. And we liked it, as did our little fellow travellers. It was a better use for the dollars than Spiderman 3 was.
I did have another Parental Moment Of Anxiety™ though.
In the queue ahead of us was a girl, probably not more than ten or eleven, her face with that very slight child’s chubbiness that disappears through the teenage years but the rest of her like five matchsticks in close denim. I hoped she wasn’t a friend of Ana or Mia, not ever and especially not at that age.
And then I worried on behalf of my own, the older already becoming conscious of those collective societal messages on size and food.
But hell, I worry too much for my kids, about everything. And I’m not alone in this. It goes with the job.