>A Lesson at the Playground


So I’m at the playground with Zoey. We’re having a perfectly lovely time — strolling from the slide to the swings, pausing to pet a tree. The breeze is gentle, the sun is sunny, and we can smell the ocean (which is about 50 yards away). Zoey is singing ‘Do-Re-Mi’ from the sound of music as she holds my pointer finger and leads me towards the twisty slide.

In quick succession 3 mini vans pull up. Before the first van is fully stopped the the side door is flung open and 3 boys jump/push/climb out. Zoey and I stop in our tracks, alarmed to see kids launching themselves out of a MOVING VEHICLE. The next two vans pull in and more boys pile out. All 8 boys are now running directly towards us as we are between them and the playground. Zoey is clinging to my leg. The boys are yelling. Mostly just making noise like ARG! and YAAAAA! Except for one boy who is inexplicably yelling, “Die! Die! DIEEEEEEEEEEE!” The boys, none of whom have a sense of personal space, run within 2 inches of us. Zoey hides her face and begins to mutter, “No no no no.” Several of the boys pick up large sticks and begin to hit them as hard as they can against the side of the slide. Two of the boys are wresting on the ground. The mothers, wearing over-sized sunglasses and toting ginormous Coach purses, climb out of the vans and teeter across the playground in their high heeled flip-flops.
I pick up Zoey and take her to a part of the playground that is clearly designed for the under 5 set. But the boys swarm us. The boys are running (!) with sticks (!!) pretending they are guns (!!!). One of the other mothers comes over to us. She waves vaguely in the direction of the sweaty mass of running/wresting/yelling boys and sighs. “Three of them are mine.” “Wow. They certainly are, um, energetic” I offer. The woman does a half smile and looks longingly down at Zoey. “You sure are lucky to have a girl. You and your daughter are at home having tea parties and my boys are out picking up dead animals.” Before I can even think what to say to this, the woman is charging across the sand to one of her boys, “I told you not to hit him on the head or the face! Give. Me. That. Stick. AndImeannowmister!”
I take Zoey’s hand and lead her towards the car. She’s holding on to me tighter than before and I’m feeling sort of smug. My relatively mellow girl child and I are headed home where she won’t pretend that anything is a gun and she won’t be roaming the yard for dead animals. I am happy with my one daughter. Who isn’t a boy. Or three.

6 thoughts on “>A Lesson at the Playground

  1. Joslyne

    >You will teach your kids not to pick up dead animals and not to hit people *anywhere* as opposed to just not hitting the face and head. And you will teach Pickle to remain in the car until it has come to a complete stop. You will be an excellent mother to a little boy.

  2. Alicia King

    >As a mother of a son, I would like to state that "we", the Mothers and Sons Club, are well aware of this band of hooligans. They in no way represent our group, as they are quite unruly. Their shenanigans are well-documented. We are, to be truthful, quite disgusted at their behavior. Please do not allow them to affect your opinion of little males, as they surely are not representative of us as a whole.Dead animals, indeed.P.S. Should Pickle have a pickle, we are confident he will be a fine young man with no die-DIE-DIIIIEEEEE! tendencies.

  3. Niki

    >I'm joining the club Alicia and David belong to because it sounds much more fun. Peter had better not even attempt to join the hooligan club or else he's going to go to boot camp over at Alicia's house. Seriously. Maybe an older sister is a good influence??

  4. Niki

    >And thanks for scaring the crap out of me. I was already nervous about having a boy…And remember this post when Zoey is 13 and doing what all 13-year-old girls do best — torturing their mothers. ; )

  5. Anonymous

    >So am I doomed? We got Will a hand made wooden pop gun this weekend. So far we are only pointing it at the floor, but it's a matter of time before our two miniature schnauzers become targets. AND, just to make you feel better about having a girl. My three year old son gets so distracted that while going potty he will turn to ask you a question or point something out to you. You can use your imagination as to what happens with his aim. I have plans to repaint the bathroom walls this summer :)Kim Bauer


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