Atlanta Auntie

“So when are you getting married Sony” asks little Miss Casey, the 5 year old middle child.. “Umm…., would you like to know why the sky is blue instead?” I return quickly, that’s a question I can answer. Since when did kids get so perceptive and so damn inquisitive and how is it that they know exactly what to say to turn my blissfully happy single status into an inadequate nightmare? I traveled from Albany to Atlanta this weekend to help a friend with her three adorable handfuls. Her hubby is away at the Bonnaroo Music Fest, a Woodstock ripoff in Tennessee, and she, the Meteorologist Mommy, works odd hours for the Weather Channel. Her kids, all under 10, are a scream – there’s Bridget in the Buff (she loves to streak), Krabby Patty Casey (I've watched and read enough Spongebob to last a lifetime) and the Benevolent Mr. Backstroke Brian (The swimming junkie who graciously gives up his full-size mattress every time ) Like all siblings, they pick, poke, pester, and pretend and when I’m not looking my sandals go missing, smoke pours out of the toaster oven and a stuffed horsey becomes my alarm clock at 7am. By Sunday, I've sized up their little personalities, moods, and habits and I'm feeling confident I can tackle anything...until Casey has to ask..."Sony, how old are you?" Oh no, not again...."