During one summer, the kids and I took a walk to the nearby park three or four times a week. After a few weeks, we began to have somewhat of a ritual. We always went the same route, and we always stopped in all the same places. Cody would always push the walk button to cross the street, and then Isabella would always have a fit until I let her push it too. Then I would push it five or six more times, just for good measure. Pushing the walk button at least twenty times is a bad habit that I got into during my middle school days, and I have never been able to shake it. It can be an embarrassing habit, especially when someone has already pushed it.
When we got to the park, we would go straight to the swings. Next we played in the cement tunnels and, inevitably, I would have to stop one of the kids before they stepped into the tunnel that was always full of muddy water. After the tunnels, we walked over to a separate part of the park where the playground and slides are.
One day we were almost to the swings when I saw another woman walking with her child to the same destination. There were usually plenty of swings, but there was only one baby swing, and Isabella wasn’t quite old enough for the big kid swings. After eying the child I guessed that she was around four or five, and obviously not a competitor for the baby swing, so I relaxed and slightly slowed my pace. We all arrived at almost the exact same time. As Cody and Bell were climbing out of the stroller, the five year old girl walked right up to the baby swing and her mom helped her in. Cody started shouting, “No! That’s Isabella’s swing!” As I helped Cody into the swing next to where the young girl sat I explained to him that it was actually the park’s swing, and I said that I’m sure we can all share and take turns. I gave the woman a smile without receiving one in return.
After these few events, I was a little annoyed, but I decided to just hold Isabella for a minute while I pushed Cody. Surely the mother would understand the situation and let my smaller child take a turn. Isabella tolerated being in my arms for a few minutes, but soon became anxious and begged, “swing mommy, please?” My arm was getting tired any way so I put her in the swing on the other side of Cody, told her to hold on as tight as she could with both hands, and gave her a small push. She held on tight and I was relieved that she would be happy in the big swing for the moment. I watched her for a second then turned around to push Cody. I turned back around just in time to see Isabella let go, fly out of her seat, and land face first on the hard ground. I picked her up, and with tears in her eyes and a whole mouth full of wood chips she bravely said, “I ok, mommy.”
While all of this was going on, the woman and the five year old were playing happily on the baby swing without even a glance our way. The mother’s friend came over and put her own five year old boy in the swing that I had just taken Isabella out of. The two women began chatting over my head while I resumed holding my 18 month old and pushing my three year old. My resentment started to grow. The mature thing to do would have been to walk away and go to the tunnels. I have never been one to give up easily, and my stubbornness got the best of me. I was determined to give Isabella a turn to swing. Besides, I thought, how long can a five year old really want to sit in a baby swing?
Nearly twenty minutes passed and Cody was getting sick of swinging. I was almost ready to give in when the woman stopped the swing and asked the girl if she would like some yogurt. “Finally!” I thought. I was preparing to put my patient Isabella in the swing when the lady walked over to her bag, got a yogurt container out, opened it up, and began feeding the five year old in the swing. I’m sure my jaw dropped all the way to the floor, but of course, neither of the ladies who had happily resumed their conversation over my head, even glanced my way. Furious, I stormed over to my stroller, put my crying children in, and stomped over to the tunnels.
If I get to the other side and I don’t get through those pearly gates, it might just be because of all the nasty thoughts that went through my head that day about the stupid lady at the swings.
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