kippur and self irony

Sometimes, spending a lot of time with children is like swallowing every theory you've felt is decent and holy. Sometimes, to be a good child watcher, you have to swallow adulthood.

Not that I'm terribly adult.

Somedays you show up and it's just a regular day and before you've even said no to anything they're crying about something again (apparently children don't get thrills from the absurdism of life, you know, the waiting for Godot part of life). In my head (on the days when I feel the weight of these absurdist repetitions) I think, "Really? You're crying now? How bout I really give you something to cry over." But me being tired of them being tired of everything doesn't help anything. Obviously, it makes them cry more.
Most days I can remember not to be tired. Most days I have this vivid recollection of me being six sitting in the kitchen on those floral fabricked basic kitchen chairs we got from some relative and my mom suggesting things for lunch,
"There are apples."
"No."
"There's cheese. We could make cheese and crackers."
"I don't want cheese and crackers."
"Peanut butter and jelly?"
"No! Not peanut butter and jelly."
"Yogurt, then."
"I don't want yogurt."

Ok, I take a deep breath and tell myself, Ok, Smile, and start quoting Dr. Seuss.
"Would you could you in a boat?"