Cynthia and I took Sammy to this park this evening. It was chilly and we (that is, Sammy and us) had the requisite standoff about wearing a coat. We finally settled on a fleece with a yellow slicker overcoat. I swear, we should use three-year-olds for work stoppage negotiations. They are intractable. Although I would guess they might crack under the offering of chocolate milk and cookies.
Anyway, we went to the park and had some fun. Sammy, much like me, isn’t exactly the social type. She’d rather play with people she already knows. Since her mummy and daddy were the only ones she knew, we became her default playthings.
So, we played hide and seek, tag, etc. As we were leaving, I was racing Sammy down the park. We were supposed to touch four trees in a row.
I gave her a two-tree head start and then took off. I touched the first tree, then the second. As a bore down on the diminutive three-year-old, she looked back to see where I was. As she did, she veered into my running lane. I tried to jump over her, but as she teetetered back and forth, she pinballed off my thigh. She started to go down, so I contorted my body backwards and tried to pick her up as I fell. But I couldn’t maintain my balance. She landed on her face and skidded forward. I bounced off her and fell on my shoulder.
Cynthia started shouting at me. I bounced up and picked up a dirty and stunned Sammy. Three, two, one… wahhhhhh!
As Sammy screamed into my ear and tears streamed down her cheeks, I reassurred her that everything was okay. Cynthia calmed down once she realized Sammy wasn’t broken.
By the time we walked the block and a half home, Sammy was ready to go back to the park. That’s my girl!