Now once upon I time I used to pack for the park like a sherpa trekking Mt. Everest. I’d have snacks, lunch, sand toys, diapers, wipes, anti-bacterial liquid, sunscreen... a mall’s-worth of goodies in my multiple diaper bags. Today I’m much more of a minimalist. I bring coffee for myself and if the kids want to bring toys, they have to convince me they are worth the extra effort, and they have to carry them.
“No.”
“Why?!”
“Because you beat each other with them, and I like to reserve that experience for when we are home and the neighbors can’t see.”
“We promise we won’t hit other kids.”
“No.”
“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.”
“Why don’t you take your squirt guns,” I suggested, thinking that at least those would be harder to use in maiming another child.
“No, we want the swords.”
“Fine, but the first sign of aggression, and I’m taking them.”
Insert irony: as soon as we got the park, the boys didn’t want anything to do with the swords anyway. What did strike everyone’s fancy was playing in the sandpit.
The sandpit is the bane of my existence. While it at least keeps the kids contained, thus allowing me a chance catch up with fellow moms at the playground, it is the messiest, dirtiest place in the whole park. God only knows what other animals use the sandpit for, but I don’t want to go there.
Additionally, some architectural genius also decided to put a “fresh water” fountain in the middle of this play area. So, not only can our kids get sand in every pocket, cuff and crevice, but they can also get themselves sopping wet in the process. Always interested in pushing the envelope, the Mighty Midget today decided sopping wet wasn’t good enough, and proceeded to actually drink from one of the water-filled communal buckets left for all the neighborhood kids. To cover for my poor parenting, I plied her with oranges announcing loudly and awkwardly to mothers looking on in disapproval, “Oh well, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger!” and “I’m sure the vitamin C in these oranges will counter any pathogens.” A few moms scooted themselves and their young a few feet further from us.
After a while, that embarrassing moment passed and everyone was having a grand ol’ time. But all good things must come to an end, and the owner of most of the toys started collecting her buckets, rakes and spades to take home.
“Um, excuse me, sweetie, can I have that?”
I turned to look and see what was going on.
“Here you go. Can I trade this watering can for that scooper you have?”
There was a mother trying to bargain with my two year old, hoping the Mighty Midget would willingly give up the shovel she had been loving so for the past 10 minutes. And the Midget seemed to be the one controlling the situation.
“Sweetie, it has to go bye-bye. Will you give it to me, pretty please?” this mother further cajoled.
“Ummm…you know, you can just take it, especially if it belongs to you. That’s so nice of you to give her other toys, but you don’t have to negotiate with my daughter. You’re the mom,” I good-heartedly laughed, still unable to believe that this was what was actually taking place anyway.
“Well, I just don’t want her to think we're OK with grabbing. Or worse! That I don’t want to share with her! Learning to share is so very important, isn’t it?!”
It was actually more of a statement than a question.
“Oh, right. Ugh, thanks,” I mumbled as I extracted the coveted shovel from the Midget’s mighty grip. Yet, I think all this episode might have taught my daughter was that she was the one wearing the (albeit wet) pants in that situation.
Ummm, WTF? When did our kids become the boss of us?
2 comments:
LOL, I agree: don't reason with a kid, they aren't old enough to give you the response you want. EVER! I just stumbled upon your blog and am thoroughly enjoying it.
Hmmm, not sure what I did, but I think missed a step. I just stumbled across your blog and am loving it. Completely agree that you shouldn't reason with little kids, they never have the same idea as an adult.
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