Before I begin, I will preemptively state that I know the words I'm about to write could easily land me a runner-up spot for the Worst Mother of the Year Award. I KNOW. But it's already happened, and I have to share this.
It all actually began several years ago one nice afternoon when the boys and I were itching to get out and enjoy the weather. About a mile from the house was a playground at a brand new elementary school. I'd seen it from the road and thought it was a grand idea to try it out that day.
A word about me and playgrounds that I've learned with time: I don't know what it is, but we tend to not get along. I use poor judgment about the boys' abilities, I often get even myself hurt, and other parents rub me the wrong way. Bad things happen there. But that didn't stop me that day, because the boys weren't really all that old yet and I was just getting started in the world of playgrounds.
After the excitement and anticipation of going to a special new playground, we arrived and I quickly deflated, realizing that upon closer examination, this playground was way beyond what the boys' gross motor skills were capable of. Perhaps it was because it was designed for elementary school age children and not two-year-olds.
But in typical stubborness, I was determined to make the best of it. We were going to play, by golly. I helped and assisted and demonstrated the best I could, but the look on the boys' faces clearly told the story: This sucks, Mommy.
At the end of the playground stood what might have been the redeemer of the afternoon-- a huge (that should have been clue #1, Sherlock), slicky-slide complex. After a long climb up some steep steps (clue #2), you had the option of taking three different slides: one that twisted to the left, one that twisted to the right, and one that went straight down the middle.
As I gestured and enthusiastically guided them to the slide, the boys just kind of looked at me. As if I was a total nutcase. But bless their hearts, they were good sports and I know they trusted my judgment... which was their first mistake. Up the stairs we all went. It wasn't until I watched (from the top) Ben get about 1/4 of the way headed down the middle slide that I realized this was a Horrible Idea.
Perhaps it was because he had no core strength in his little body.... perhaps it was because he weighed less than 25 pounds... or maybe it was because the slide was much steeper than I realized.... but as he headed down the slide, he started to lose control of his body and pick up more speed. As he flew off the end of the slide, he seemed to hang in mid-air, his whole body twisting superfast so that in one motion, he was facing downward, deposited facedown in the mulch.
Thank God for mulch. It was in his mouth, in his shoes, and down his shirt, but it saved us a trip to the ER, I'm convinced. Picking up and comforting the now completely mortified Ben, I first glanced around to see if anyone else had seen this and was dialing CPS. Coast was clear. I then turned my attention to Jake, standing at the top of the slides. Firmly (and wisely) resisting my pleas to slide down the slide and let me catch him, Jake insisted I come up and rescue him, which I did. Tail tucked, we packed up and went home.
Showing the true resilience of children, Ben never really let that experience bother him, and as he got older and stronger, he enjoyed slides of all types. So when we discovered that the great playground at the elementary school right over the hill from our new house had an identical triple slide, I never even thought twice about suggesting he try it out. He was nearly 3 1/2 now, and probably weighed a good, what, four pounds more now? (I wish that was just a joke, but it's probably accurate).
"Come on, Ben! Come down the slide!" I cheered from the bottom. I even had my camera ready to take a picture in the perfect evening sunlight of autumn.
He looked me square in the eye, scooted his little bottom to the top of the slide and pushed off.
I am sad to say that the same exact event occurred. Little Ben was doing fantastic until he got to the end of that slide and did a perfect re-enactment of his past slicky-slide mishap. I tell the truth-- I had no idea he'd bite the dust like that again. I would have gone down the slide with him. Or been there to catch him. Or not suggested it at all. But instead I stood there with my camera ready, like the ignorant, terrible parent that I sometimes am. I was even able to quickly snap a pic of him pre-flight (see Exhibit A below).
There were tears this time around, again, but most of all, he was just mad. And indignant. And clearly in disbelief that he'd been suckered into that one again. But once the mulch had been brushed off, the tears wiped away, and the boo-boos kissed, he got back up and marched to the slide again.
This time with Mommy's help.
Laughing, laughing...I love those boys!! Can't wait to see them tomorrow. :)
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