We ate at Chic-fil-a last night after getting our Christmas tree. We made the mistake of sitting near the playground. Mac ate his kid's meal, and then his attention wandered to the colorful, enticing play area. We noticed him staring at it, riveted. Then, a few minutes later, he quietly whispered, "People in there." Yes, Mac, there are people in there...
After awhile (and a few more sips of milk), we hear again--a tiny awed whisper--"People in there." Accompanied with a point.
A few minutes later, there's another whisper, "May I be 'scused?" (We've taught him to ask to be excused since he's been sitting in a big-boy chair.) We said yes. He got down, took a few steps, and looked more closely at the monstrosity. Came back to the table and whispered again, "May I be 'scused?" (Translation: Can I go in there? Will you come with me?)
Oh...I wanted so badly to say no! You'll catch the swine flu, Maccers. You'll get hand-foot-mouth disease. You'll get athletes foot. But of course a two-year-old cannot process these reasons. And I know that he's in as much danger in the church nursery as he is at Chic-fil-a or the grocery shopping cart. So...Brad went with him...they took off his shoes (required for the indoor playground)...and Mac just stood at the bottom of this huge jungle gym...and stared up.
Nothing else really happened. He's too small to climb up the platforms, and he was a little scared anyway. But I know we've entered a new era...an era where if I don't want him to play on the playground, I should just go through the drive-through rather than torture him by keeping him off it while the other kids play. And it won't be long for our little monkey to be tearing it up on the Chic-fil-a playground. There are worse things, right?
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