The push
And its consequences.
There are few things I hate more than the consequences of my own actions.
Last night, instead of exercising, I ate an ice cream sandwich and watched an extra hour of tv. This morning, I woke up tired and with a tummy ache.
In addition to being the kind of adult who uses the phrase “tummy ache” non-ironically, I’m also the kind of adult who struggles with impulse control. So, it should come as no surprise to find that my son does as well.
We had set aside Tuesday morning to visit the arboretum. A place you have to pay to go into (this detail matters) and a place that is, by all standards, tranquil and lovely.
But the person who decided to add a small creek running through the kids playground is an idiot.
After scampering around the fountains, the boy beelined for the “Children’s Adventure Garden.” In this play area, giant bugs and logs and jungle gyms are scattered alongside a stream littered with sharp protruding rocks and faux lily pads made of the slipperiest material known to man. Ideal for children.
The boy immediately sploshed his way through the stream and soaked his entire lower half. It was below fifty degrees.
Another boy (dry) looked on with delight and ran over to see. They bumped into each other in a way that I interpreted as friendly. Kind of like how a cat will put its head against your leg as a greeting.
Turns out the boy read it as more of a first punch thrown type of thing. So he bumped again, this time with more shoulder and elbow, and I did not intervene (a decision I have replayed a thousand times now). Within five seconds the boy full arm pushed his new “friend” fully into the water.
Cue me running (calmly?), apologizing to a nanny (half my age), trying to speak sternly without yelling (impossible), and carrying the boy (both of us wet now) outside of the play area to explain to him what he had just done (third-degree assault).
Sharing that his act of reckless violence meant we had to leave the play area and the arboretum altogether brought neither of us joy. He held my hand and whimpered the entire walk to the car.
Things we said on the way out included:
“If you can’t play nice, we have to go home.”
“Pushing is mean and when you do mean things that makes us sad.”
“No, we can’t go to Chick-fil-a.”
“Actions have consequences.” (legitimately embarrassed this one came out of my mouth)
“Friends don’t push friends.”
“No, I don’t think he wanted to play in the water.”
“It’s not ok to push me or mom either.”
“Or your brother.”
“Or the dog.”
“I already said we can’t go to Chick-fil-a.”
I don’t want to complain about having set aside a weekday morning for this activity and having also paid for it, but also that’s exactly what I want to do.
Turns out dealing with the consequences of your kids actions might be even worse than dealing with your own. It’s hard to be the judge, jury, and warden. Especially when the warden has to take the guilty person to jail and then sit in the cell with them.
I wanted to stay in the Arboretum. I wanted to keep playing. I wanted to see more than the one hundred feet we had traversed from the main entrance.
Instead, I got to return home where I repeated the phrase “we don’t push” enough times to where it’s now the only thing he says to me any time I touch him.
I am crushing it.
Thanks for reading this far.
- jd
And also…
The only song I’m listening to is “Where the Hell is My Husband?” I’m not even aware of the existence of other music at this point.
Black Rabbit is the first show in a long while that has made me stay up later to watch another episode. I haven’t seen enough to share a full endorsement, but watch this space.
If I could wear the exact same thing to work every day, I would. At the same time, there are four pairs of shoes I want to buy right now. None for any reason.
Which sport is the least cool to be really good at? It’s gotta be bowling, I think. Maybe ping pong.
Love this!
It be like that sometimes