Let me explain. Spoiler Alert: Do you remember the scene when Dustin Huffman is at a Central Park playground with his son and is in deep conversation with a woman as the boy is climbing a jungle gym? Of course, the child falls from the top and the next scene is Dustin Huffman running while carrying his crying, bleeding son, several New York City blocks to the hospital. The boy has to get several stitches. From the moment I saw blood on the screen, I never wanted to be at a playground again. Whether I'd be climbing with or watching my monkey friends swing from bar to bar on a jungle gym, I would panic.
It's only fitting that I should have such a playground down the street from our apartment, ideal for any family with small children. 2 lovely little playgrounds. FULL OF DEADLY SWING SETS AND MONSTROUS MONKEY BARS.
The possible accidents with blood are not my only fear. The politics that happen at the park are totally stressful. Who goes first on the slide? How long do you swing? Until there is a line? No child can run up the slide, unless it's your kid doing the running up. The negotiation of toys that are left in the sandbox for "everyone" happens over tears. How involved do you get in conflict management? This keeps me up at nights. (I exaggerate, but you get my drift.)
I hate taking my children to the playground.
The scene is usually this. The park is full of little monsters, running, screaming, laughing or crying while playing on the scary structures or digging in the poisonous sand box. Their mommies or nannies sit on the park benches creating a perimeter for the nightmarish scene. They sit, looking up from their iPhones every so often to make sure no one is dead or missing. Me? I hover around my 2 year old like a nervous little ninny. I usually have the baby in the stroller so I am following Conley like an annoying buzzing bee, the tires almost taking him down for fear that he may, I don't know, skin a knee? get eaten by wolves? Well, those other little toddlers can be awfully garish. Stealing toys, throwing sand, they can be down right awful. Hence...
I do not schedule play-dates for my kids.
This is not because I don't love children other than my own. I do. I am just scared of them. They are little beings with their own agendas and I don't know that I fit into theirs. I feel like they could look at me and say, "Look, lady. You are not my mom. You can't tell me what to do or how to behave. Now, go, and let me eat this crayon in peace." I know that these children will surely want to sit on the stoop and share a smoke with Conley as they pour one for their homies. I am also afraid of my own child's behavior. That he won't share his toys, that he will want to be the alpha male and stomp on his little friends or that he will have a tantrum that lasts for an hour. Soon all of the parents in the neighborhood will ostracize us from any and all play-dates. They will whisper, avoiding our eyes as we pass in our screaming double stroller, "There they are. Do not invite them over. They are a mess."
I realize that "playing well with others" is a huge part of a child's experience of life- resolving conflict, making and becoming a friend. I remember some of my play-dates growing up. I learned things like how to draw a star, tie my shoes, and ride a bike. I laughed so hard while eating Speghetti-O's that they almost came up through my nose. I danced my ass off to the BeeGees. I got into verbal spars as only a 6 year old can, but I also learned how to say "sorry" and how to forgive. I am sure that my childhood would not have been the same had I not been scheduled these "meetings" by my mother. Despite all of these rewarding experiences, play-dates still make me nervous.
This could be because I am also afraid of the other mothers. Afraid of their judgments, their innate abilities to better parent my child because they are more creative or more eco-friendly than I am. That they have perfect conflict resolving skills and I am only equipped with the words, "Stop it." As often as I tell myself that we mothers are in the same boat, I am still suffering with this fear of being judged.
Because Conley is now in preschool, I know that these playground play-dates will soon be a must and I will have to get over my fears. I will have to just wring my hands and hope that I will be blessed with patience and love, and that I will find the words to remove the crayons from the their mouths. That I will know how to band-aid a scraped knee. That I will be able to let them resolve their conflicts and be present as a loving battery for their process.
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