a true story about big feelings
Five Kids Have Swung. She Hasn't Moved.
Five kids have swung and gone. My girl still hasn't moved, one fist shut tight, whispering that red is her color.
the realization
Selling her on "fair" only made her go quieter and smaller. The thing that reached her was me quitting the speech, saying out loud that the wait was the worst part, and standing in it with her instead of talking her out of it.
Five kids have gone. My daughter still hasn't moved an inch. She's just parked a few feet from the red swing, watching it go up and back with somebody else on it.
have you ever felt this way too?
So I gave her the fair-mom line. Your turn will come, sweetheart, the other kids are waiting too. I said it in my reasonable voice, the one that's supposed to settle things. It didn't. She got quieter. One fist shut tight, and she whispered that the red one is her color.
And I heard how thin my own words sounded. So I quit selling fair. I crouched next to her, looked at the swing with her, and said, this is the worst part, huh. She didn't answer, but something in her face loosened a little.
Two more kids, then the red one's yours. And I'm counting with you. Her shoulders dropped. Her hand slid into mine. The swing was still taken. She just wasn't waiting for it alone anymore.
what I found myself saying
"This is the worst part, huh."
"Two more kids, then the red one's yours."
"And I'm counting with you."
