We went to a community playground yesterday. The kids did not stop until they reached the swings. Like always, I swung my kids carefully, making sure their little butts were on just right...reminding them to hold on tight...slowing them down when they got too high.
We were just fine. We were having fun.
Then another mom with a younger kid, probably about a year younger than our kids, joined us. She placed her kid on the swing, and off he went. He was fast. Our kids were left in the dust. Let's face it. They looked like giant wimps.
"Undoo Hawg!" yelled the kid.
And Under Dog he got, sailing with his toes pointed to the sky, laughing joyfully.
I watched for awhile, trying not to let my competitive side kick in. My kids aren't going to be shown up like that. I'll show her.
"Hold on, S. Mama will give YOU an Under Dog!" (Watch this, little boy and not-any-cooler-than-me mom!)
Now, I didn't give S a COMPLETE Under Dog...more like a 3/4 Under Dog. But still, when I looked up after letting go of the swing, S was not on it anymore. She was sailing high, away from me and the swing and the I-guess-you-ARE-cooler-than-me mom. She was soaring, legs flailing, eyes popping, and then....
She was plummeting towards the ground, face first, into the wood chips.
She cried, hard. And to add to my embarrassment, another kid came running over to see if she was hurt. (S told me later she was not hurt, just "REALLY SCARED!")
She refused to go on the swing the rest of our time there, no matter how much I tried to convince her that she had to "get back on the horse". She didn't care about the horse. She cared about not plummeting to disaster again.
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