Something happened at the park the other day and I need to get it off of my chest.
I stood next to a friend at the playground and we chatted while occasionally pausing to count children or respond to the seventeenth repetition of “mommy” while a child hung from my pant leg. The sun shone gloriously and the park was packed.
I was fairly close to a ladder that has been causing me grief and parenting fail moments for five years. The top of it is probably six feet off of the ground and the gap in the railing for entering and exiting this ladder is perfect for an unsteady but determined toddler to fall through. The ladder itself is made of slippery metal rungs spaced too far apart for your average early walker. Which makes it, of course, the only thing on an entire acre-large playground that any of my early walkers have ever wanted to play on.
A little girl, probably two, bit it from the top rung. The thump was impressive when she hit the wood chips. I was the closest parent to her, but she was moving and crying and using all limbs, so I only spoke to her—oh ouch, that was scary, huh? Is mom here?—without touching her or trying to help her or freaking her out in any other way. A woman moved toward her immediately and since she was obviously mom, I considered my duties done unless help was specifically requested.
Mom sauntered over at a brisk, but unpanicked pace, and knelt down for a hug and a cuddle, get this, without ever taking the cell phone away from her ear or breaking her conversation. I know. The little girl went back to playing and mom still continued talking.
I thought, OMIGOD, THAT IS OUTRAGEOUS. HER KID FELL SIX FEET AND SHE WAS TOTALLY CALM AND SHE HANDLED IT AND SHE NEVER EVEN PUT DOWN HER CELL PHONE. DUDE. I HAVE SOME THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THAT. I’M GOING TO TALK TO THIS WOMAN RIGHT NOW.
.
.
.
“Hi, I’m Stacey. That was impressive, will you be my friend?”
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