Not Now Sweetie…Mommy’s In The Ball Pit!

Yesterday I dragged my lazy buns out of the house with the kiddos to a playgroup hosted by my good friend Megan.  I am grateful for moms who do such fun things as run playgroups, but for the most part, I am not able to summon up enough energy to attend every week. And in my defense, it’s a 45 minute drive, so I’m not a complete lazy bum…

Anyways, this week’s playgroup was at Jungle Safari, one of those indoor playgrounds…you know the type, with the swinging ropes, the tunnels, and all sorts of various climbing apparatuses. Basically, kid heaven for a three year old.  After getting over my germaphobic tendencies (work one day in a hospital, I dare you!), I was really glad we went.  It was relatively clean, it was fun to get out of the house, and Ada was having a blast.  She even found a little friend, holding hands with her, and much to my horror, sitting down at her table and chowing down goldfish crackers while I fondly watched some random kid in the tunnel, who as it turns out, was not my child.  Whoops.

But while enjoying our time at Jungle Safari, I noticed something odd. Amongst all the sweaty, sock-clad children were sweaty, sock-clad…parents?  While Megan and I did the proper adult thing to do, and sat back at our table to enjoy watching the kids play, dolling out the occasional “Wait your turn” or “Don’t lick that,” parent after parent around us trailed behind their children in the playground.

At first I thought I was mistaken.  Surely no sane parent would willingly descend into the darkness of the Jungle Safari.  Perhaps that child was just too young to play safely by herself.  Nope, she looks about five.  Or, maybe that child just is stuck.  Nope, mom is pleading with her to play in a new spot so she can come out of the tunnel. Is that dad really going down the slide? Without his kid? Yes, yes, he is.

What is going on here?

Shouldn’t a child’s playground be just that–a child’s playground? Why on earth are these parents following around their children, “encouraging” them to play?  Isn’t that something kids, like, just do?

At one point, I was standing on one side, looking after Mya and another little playgroup baby while Ada tried the netted ladder for the first time.  She had trouble at first, her little cankles preventing her from achieving any real vertical gain, and of course, she whined that she couldn’t do it.

Did I climb up there and help her up?  Of course not.

But as I stood there and watched Ada try again and succeed with my encouragement, I watched another mom climb up behind her son and when he couldn’t climb up the first time, she lifted him up the next step.

What the…?

Who did the help, now really?

This post by a mom that I really admire was on my mind as I watched all these parents hindering their children from learning valuable lessons in the Jungle Safari.  I thought about how much I do this with Ada–playing guess-what-she-wants when all I need to do is give her time to tell me.  After reading the post and witnessing the jungle of the Jungle (ha) I’ve been working on encouraging Ada to use full sentences and be specific, always with a “please” when she wants/needs something.  It amazed and worried me how often I had to do this, alerting me to the fact that she usually just blurts out things like “I’m hungry” and expects me to jump on fulfilling her need instantly.

It’s sad how as parents, we try so hard to help our kids…and in the process, end up holding them back.

Here’s to letting kids be kids. And parents?

Try to stay out of the ball pit, ok?

Gas Station Thrills

Two long years ago, my mother-in-law treated Ben and I to a getaway for our first anniversary.  Nothing crazy, just a night out to a local touristy spot, where we enjoyed dinner, a horse-drawn carriage ride, and a glass of wine or two. It was a lovely time, marred only by the quite unromantic occasion of me having to use my breast pump several times throughout the evening.

But you know what sticks out the most in mind about our little getaway?

Our trip to the gas station on the way home.

After filling up the tank, Ben pulled up to the front of the station, shut off the engine, and unbuckled his seat belt.

“I’m going to go in and get some snacks,” he said.

“Uh uh” I muttered, barely looking up from my People magazine.

He stared at me, unmoving.

“Do you want to come in with me?” he offered.

It took me a minute to process….

Wait, what?!

I could go in with him? I didn’t have to face the inevitable and long-lasting struggle of buckling and unbuckling a child in the car seat? I didn’t have to sit in the car, straining to entertain a small child trapped in a vehicle?

A small chorus of heavenly singing erupted.

I opened the car door, stepped out into the sunshine, and simply closed the door behind me. In and out. Nothing could be simpler. Is this how people live? Is this how I used to live? Just getting out of the car without a backwards glance? No finding lost shoes, putting on hats and gloves on little people, or wrestling a screaming body into a 5 point harness? Incredible.  As we strode together hand-in-hand into that gas station to load up on junk food, I felt giddy with delight.  I couldn’t even remember the last time I had walked anywhere with my husband, holding hands and carefree.  What freedom! What fun! We even felt so crazy that we bought a lotto ticket while waiting in line. (We didn’t win).

Life with kids and car seats gets complicated.  I praise God for such inventions as drive-through pharmacies, eye doctor uncles who will fix my glasses for me in the parking lot, and drive-by library drop off boxes.  I limit all errands by the amount of in-and-out car seat transfers said errand will entail.  Actually, who am I kidding? I rarely run errands if it can at all be avoided.  I dread it, and so far, since Mya came along, I’ve managed to find a way to grocery shop without the kids, bolting out of the house when my mom stops by for a visit, sending Ben long emails of things to pick up for me, or playing the ever-popular “How long can we survive without milk/cereal/eggs/bread?” game.

Ahhh..parenthood. It ain’t easy.

But I will say this: Being a parent allows you to appreciate the little things in life.  Like spring, with its shedding of winter coats and one less step getting out of the house.  Or holding hands with your husband at the gas station.