Oh. Yeah. Fun.

Communication and attitude were definitely the words for the week. Fortunately, they weren’t the words for my work week. Unfortunately, they were the words for my parenting week.

When I picked up Iz today at her Summer camp (the Summer Camp formerly known as the After-School program), she ran over to me with her forehead ever so sweaty from running around and said in her best angry whine, “Mommy, I didn’t need my car seat today.” She told me last night that they were going to Knuckle Bones, so when Nathan dropped her off this morning, I had him leave her car seat. I said, “But, I thought you said you were going to Knuckle Bones in the van?”

She said quite perturbed, “Nooooooo.” I asked, “Then what was the field trip today?” She said sighing, as if I didn’t know how to spell my own name, but to her credit, she saved me the eye roll, “The Knuckle Bone guy came here.” I said, “That must have been fun.” She said, “Oh. Yeah. Fun,” and then came the big finish, the eye roll.

It sounded like a good time to me given that she wasn’t reading through a User Guide most of the day trying to make sense of VoIP network security like I was. It seemed that Iz was really peeved because she didn’t get to go in the van. In fact, I think it didn’t matter where she went today, she just wanted to ride in the van somewhere!

As we headed down the stairs, I could sense her disappointment. Well, I didn’t sense it. She verbalized it, especially after she picked up her car seat by the doorway and sighed as we headed out the door.

Once we got in the car, I thought, “Okay, this van ride disappointment too shall pass,” especially if I offer her a Happy Meal for dinner. Of course, I counted on my Happy Meal being the answer to her contentedness before the Happy Meal toy was even opened. I hate it when I do that!

As we drove to McDonald’s, Iz said, “Mom, Miss Leola said that you can’t play games outside unless your forms are in.” I said, “All your forms are in.” She said, “No, Mom. Miss Leola said you can’t play games outside unless your forms are in.”

Again, I said, “Iz, all your forms are in, so you can play games outside.” She said, “No, Mom. Listen to me.” I said, “Iz, tell Miss Leola that you can play games outside, because your forms are in.”

She began to get upset. I had no idea why; her forms had been submitted. Iz had the green light on outdoor activities that I would not sue the school over. So, why was she bothered by what I said?

Again, she said, “No. Mommy. Listen to me.” Totally frustrated I said, “But, Iz….” She said, “Mommy, listen!”

I found it hard to believe I was missing something. I thought I had solved her problem by reassuring her that her forms were in. She could tell Miss Leola that she could play kickball outside tomorrow, and I would not sue the school if she fell down and scraped her knee.

Finally, I said, “Okay. Tell me again.” She said, “Miss Leola said that you couldn’t play games outside if your forms aren’t in. But, it’s outside. Isn’t that dumb?” I finally realized what she was trying to say, even though I thought that I knew what she was trying to say five minutes ago.

All she wanted to say was that she thought it was silly that kids needed forms to play games outside; I had to agree with her. I said, “Well, Iz, schools have to make sure that parents know what’s going on and approve of it.” I couldn’t help but travel back to when I was a kid; we had no helmets, there was only one form to sign, if any, and we used our imaginations instead of a Nintendo DS or an X-box.

So, after twenty minutes, I had finally understood what Iz was trying to say. After a day, I was still trying to understand what Nathan was trying to say to me most of the time. Some days, after such parent-child communications, I really wanted to give up, not pass Go, and head directly back to work.

Did that make me a bad parent?
No.
Today, I think it made me a perfectly normal parent. ♥