Our 8-year-old nephew is staying the night with us. He’s been to visit Rob once already this year (when I was at work), but it’s the first time that I’ve seen him since before Christmas.
We used to see him at least a couple of times a week. Rob would pick him up from school every Monday because his parents both work and after-school care isn’t cheap… but that was before his mother took a big dislike to me.
Or maybe she always disliked me and just hid it better. She kind of implied that was the case. It sucks hardest because I know Rob misses him all the time.
I miss him too, but I’m also one of those adults who always feels really awkward around kids. I just talk to them like adults and they probably think I’m weird. I blame the fact that I was also once a kid who talked to other kids like they were adults… and they thought I was weird then too. I tended to play by myself a lot.
It’s meant that the rushing around-ness of being a kid still looks a bit scary to me. I’m waiting for them to turn around and start throwing stones in my direction. So while he was running through the sand trying to find crabs (so he could kill them)(he didn’t find any), I just collected fish skulls and took pictures… because it would be considered odd to take them home like I used to, right?
We did, however, get to do the classic sleepover trope of pizza and movies (he hadn’t seen the new Star Wars movie yet), and even I can enjoy that. That’s basically a night off as a grown-up too. Except there was more Spongebob.
It’s also meant that I got the highly unusual experience of going to bed early… or indeed going to bed at all. Our nephew was going to sleep on the couch (which does fold out into a bed, but he thought the couch was better as it was), so I retired to the bedroom by 10pm so I wouldn’t disturb him by writing.
But then he got scared and wanted to sleep in the bed with Rob… so I’m back to writing (and sleeping) on the familiar old couch again.
I guess having kids around doesn’t change anything much for people like me.