Archive for the ‘playground tales’ Tag
November 28 2011
As demonstrated by Jedi, but it’s surprisingly universal:
1. Start with confidence. “I’m going to play with those kids across the street”, Jedi initially stated with supreme brevity as he went in search of his shoes after watching from the window for a few moments. There were 5 or 6 neighbor kids in various activities, at least one of which he goes to school with.
2. Question the decision. “Should I go play with them? Is it OK? Do you think they have anything to play with that I’d like?”, he wondered. Which is the point where he began talk himself out of it. It’s fine, I assured. I’ll be here watching, just stay within my sight. Go, have fun, I shooed.
3. Need assistance. Like a push. Or a shove. “But you’re going to go with me, aren’t you?”, Jedi asked with a drop in demeanor. “Because I can’t go over by myself.” As a compromise, we all ventured outside to the fresh air where he could make an easier transition. In other words, I got your back.
4. Lose all confidence. As we were now outside, I suggested an easy way to politely ask if he could join in. But he cowered behind me. Instructing instead, in a timid little voice, “Just yell over there and ask for me, please? Please, please, please?”.
5. Blame someone else. Especially when, 5 minutes of back and forth later, you hear the rather loud parent to those children across the street inform them that it’s time to go. “You wasted all that time”, as Jedi’s pout began to quiver. “I could have been playing, but you wasted time.”
6. Repeat steps 1-5. Until one day, maybe, he’ll maintain enough courage to actually walk over and play.
October 12 2010
The past few months have been crazy. I’ve said it before, if it’s not one thing, it’s another. Because of it, our normal has shifted ever so slightly. Most summers, we make our way to a park at least every other weekend. This year, though, we’ve barely been at all. In fact, our last family trip to a playground was before summer officially started. When Abby was still content to sit and watch.
We finally found our way again on Sunday, though. Where my once baby girl wanted to be guided through every obstacle, she was now ready to tackle it alone.
It started the moment we arrived, when she didn’t want to be carried anymore. No, she had legs and she preferred to use them. Across the park we strolled, hand in hand.
She tried each of the slides and swings by herself. She held on to the teeter-totter, spun around the merry go round. When she got scared halfway across the bouncy bridge, I had to help. For the most part, though, she vowed to remain completely independent. She’s no longer an extension of me, as her mother’s daughter. She has her own opinions, her own actions, her own way.
I know she’s growing up. I know she isn’t my baby anymore, my last baby. But sometimes, it still takes me by surprise.
Sunday at the park, strolling hand in hand with my baby girl who wants to dress herself and feed herself and talks in short sentences and knows to slide the dining chairs over to the kitchen counter in order to reach the treats she shouldn’t and now plays like a kid. No longer a baby, but a kid. A kid, just like every other kid, at the playground. The transformation appears all of a sudden.
May 25 2010
Girl
Making her way to a slide when a black spot is noticed out of the side of her eye. A brief closer inspection affirms its identity. An ant. She takes a few steps back from her intended foothold and begins to scream for daddy, pointing, a look of worried concern embracing her sun-quenched face.
“Fy! Fy!”, she deems.
“No, not a fly”, J corrects. “Just an ant.”
“Ant! Ant!”, she continues to point and screech in his direction until it’s conclusively gone, climbing out of sight and away from the timorous girl. The area declared safe, she breathes a tension-releasing sigh of relief before she bounds off again to play.
Boy
While in the process of digging dirt, bedraggled hands and murky knees, he comes across a line of ants. Bending closer, he giddily examines their slight bodies as they scurry around the ground. A reaction completely opposite that of his sister.
“Ant! Ant!”, he exclaims in bright animation as he clomps his finger down like Godzilla to pick one up and carries it over, basking in his find. He passes the black speck from his hand to mine like a gift, concerned and amused over his new friend. I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s squished.
“We’ll just put the ant over here”, I goad as I brush off its remains and the boy returns with voracious eagerness to search for more.
May 10 2010
I am participating in Momalom‘s Five for Ten. Today’s topic is about Courage.
I watch as they climb, obstinate in their ability. Exploring new territory as if it’s an every day occurrence. Christopher Columbus sailing a sea of swings and slides. Other children, some bigger, some littler, pass like gusts of wind as they run parallel. One step after another, again and again. To repeat, happily, merrily without missing a beat.
I wince with every surface scaled, envisioning the worst of what could be. I want to call out be careful, look behind you, don’t trample each other. Eventually, I have to look away.
When one falls, tumbling backwards or bonked heads. Sympathy is pursued only briefly, momentarily. My role, as a mom, comes into play with outstretched arms and a word of encouragement. This I can do, along with a possible band-aid. I have to hold myself back from saying here, sit awhile. Calm down. We can come back to explore another day.
But another day is too far away. They want it all today. So this round of tears are smeared, dirty hands and knees wiped away. To have that resilience. There is too much to do, more territory to claim. They get right back up again, without missing a beat. They climb and slide and run. Gusts of wind passing by.
I send them off and hope for the best.
My children are courageous.
I am just faking it.
April 01 2010
My son, my darling boy, the light of my life and holy terror in velcro sneakers. My beautiful 3 year old, almost 4. I’m afraid he’s the preschool equivalent of the bad influence on the street corner peddling cigarettes to impressionable young minds. You know, if cigarettes were the highlight of our worries.
It seems Buzz is a trailblazer. And an instigator.
I’ve been a daily witness to the power of his persuasion firsthand when it comes to Abby at home. She takes after him, looks up to him, and follows in his mischievous little footsteps. Whatever he can do, she likes to think that she can do better. Whether it’s scaling tables or marking up the walls or screeching through the house with their pants on their head. They’ve become partners in crime. These days, I’m yelling just as much at her as I am at him for stunts that he hand-crafted.
This was even more evident at the park a few days ago, though. He slid down the slide with gusto, tailed closely by another little boy about the same age. Buzz was laughing and playing, a mile-wide smile durably affixed from ear to ear. Safe to say, he was having a great time. Until he decided that going DOWN the slide wasn’t quite enough fun. He wanted to climb UP the slide.
And so he did. And after a few tries, that impressionable little boy eagerly followed my son’s negative example. Giddy and free in their blatant disregard of the rules. Until that little boy’s mother came over and reprimanded him. It’s almost like I could hear Buzz tempting, “Hey kid, wanna smoke?”.
