The many pouty faces of The ‘Fish.
Yesterday, we went as a team to church. I say “team” instead of “family” because sometimes it feels more accurate. A family is a group of people brought together by blood and/or love, but a team? A team is commitment. A team takes family a step further. A team means showing up every day and giving it your best, picking up the slack if someone’s not feelin’ it, and sometimes, well, sometimes having to sit on the bench.
At church, I heard most clearly (although it wasn’t necessarily the focus), a reminder woven in there about how God commanded a day of rest. Commanded. Wowza. It was so important to build into our lives and relationships that it was instructed and defined. Usually, our weekends are full of errand running or doing and going and whatnot and when it comes time for Sunday evening, I’m still not quite so sure what happened to our weekend. So, after only a tiny bit of predetermined errand doing, we came home, gobbled some lunch, and the boys and I gathered quietly on the couch for a little snooze and only two episodes of cartoons.
And then it was park time. The boys rode down as I sherpa’d the sand toys, water bottle, and phone (in case of an emergency, because the 2yo is a little kamikaze on that balance bike and I learned quickly that the 6yo is becoming quite the daredevil on his scooter).
Thankfully, he was bucked off before hitting the ditch. Every time.
When we got to the park, our little one was happy happy happy. He had his shovel and lots of other sand toys, and the park was just his size.
The older one, however, let me know pretty quickly that he was unhappy. This was the little kid park, and he wanted to go to the big kid park (where he goes twice a day, mind you, because that’s the bus stop and we always play a bit for the wind up and wind down of the day).
Introducing, The Many Pouty Faces of The ‘Fish.
Amidst the moans and groans of, “I just don’t know what to do here,” I started focusing on how his body language also told me just how unhappy, and unfair, quite frankly, he was being.
It was time for him to take the bench. He was not being a very sportsmanlike team player at all. Have you ever given the ultimatum? The one that goes, “You’re welcome to go back home and hang out with Daddy while your little brother and I hang out at this park and have fun…” The clear message of: Dude, you’re kinda blowing it, but just for you; not for us, too.
The other little guy was having a great time. He found the sunny spots freckled around the grassy knolls and lived it up.
He found some rolling spots.
And a dinosaur.
And the swings.
And slides.
And big bro begged to be let back in the game.
That’s always a good welcome home. Team players, chomping at the bit to play again, to show you their best stuff. It’s like growing new wings, baby.
Around that time, Daddy came down and took “being in the game” up a notch. With the help of another neighborhood dad, they did this.
This, my friends, needed video. At the very least, it needed a recording of giggles and wiggles and out-of-breath laughing that results in snorts. They were mushed and squooshed to their hearts’ content.
And then some. The little one tried to break free.
And succeeded.
More friends were there, getting sand in fun places,
And then not-so-fun places (like eyes, owie).
As we got ready for dinner later that night, we remembered that Ozzy, our Elf on the Shelf, will be returning soon. We have lots of fun things in store for our time with Ozzy, like these shenanigans here. Thinking we might try every one of them; that’s funny stuff, right there.
It’s always fun having another coach in the “naughty or nice” department on the team.
