We were over at a friend's house for a birthday party this past weekend, and one father was regaling us in stories of his youthful days. He noted that because he grew up in a rough part of the country, he always made note to leave parties before things got out of hand; stay too long, and you may find yourself in the midst of shootings or police activity, or both.
Later that evening, the youngest member of all three of the families represented began to fall apart. Aaron led the way, first with tears of protest and then an outright tantrum of spectacular proportions. Alas, all three sets of parents were having such a good time at the party that we forgot the parental version of our friend's credo: know when to shut it down at night, lest the kids stay up too late, get too wound up, and unravel before being safely tucked in.
Thankfully, of course, the consequences are far less dire than getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time at a party in a tough neighborhood. Because the party was so close to our house, in no time we were home, and a little extra TLC from Amy seemed to be all Aaron needed to get himself calmed down for bed.
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