Tuesday, May 20, 2014

The Indoor Playground

Remember that party you went to in high school?  The one at the abandoned warehouse/parentless friend's house/downtown loft that you were totally not supposed to be at?  It was the party where at first you thought it might be fun-a little scandalous and a little outside the norm.  But after a short while you couldn't find your friends, felt the walls closing in on you, and were dying of thirst because you weren't sure you should be drinking any of the liquid offered at this party.

Guess what?  You're back at that party.  With two year olds.  I'd like to introduce you to the indoor playground.  It's loud, smelly, loud and full of other people's kids-the worst kind.  We have a few of these playgrounds here in Atlanta.  They have cute little names like Hippo Hop, Jump Jump, Catch Air...  when what you're most likely going to catch is The Ebola Virus. 

On a rainy Sunday (two words never to be associated with an indoor playground) Josh and I take the lunatics to our local indoor hell hole.

I take on Summer duty while Josh takes on Austin duty.  Austin likes to run all over the place while I prefer to sit on my ass with the child that typically walks in circles in a 2 square foot radius before making the epic decision to go down the 3 foot slide.

I strike up a conversation with another mother whose daughter also happens to go to Austin and Summer's Academy for Geniuses.  She remarks how cute and sweet my child is, and is impressed by the gargantuan bow on my child's head.  I drink in the praise eager to show her that I not only have one adorable, lovely, perfect child, but she comes as a set.  She is, in fact, a twin!
I see Austin running over with a big grin on his face, followed by his daddy.  

I'm about to remark to the other mother, "Oh! Here comes my son!" just as Austin approaches and proceeds to smack the woman's daughter on her head repeatedly with both hands.  The woman, appalled, comforts her crying little girl, while Josh swings Austin away to have a chat about child abuse and spend some quality time out. 

I turn to the woman and say, "My goodness, people just need to keep a better eye on their children" before excusing myself and Summer to go play away from such a fragile, sensitive child.

I, however, am not the least big surprised by Austin's behavior.  Just last week I snuck a peek in his classroom as I saw him repeatedly smacking a baby doll and telling his teacher, "Baby is crying! Baby is crying!"

I'll say what every other mom is thinking- as long as it's not MY baby crying, we're good to go.

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