a true story about daily transitions
The Playground Goodbye Battle
It's time to go, I say the words, and my whole plan for a calm exit falls apart at the bottom of the slide.
the realization
The second I stopped ordering her out of the park and gave her a little warning plus a say in how we left, the fight went out of both of us. She wasn't fighting me. She just needed to feel like it was hers.
I check my phone and my stomach drops before I even open my mouth. Pickup time. I already know how this goes. I say the words, we have to go now, and Mia hits me with all three at once: the wail, the drop to the ground, the arms locked around the pole at the bottom of the slide.
have you ever felt this way too?
My old move kicked in fast. Bribe her out (ice cream, a show, anything) or threaten it (we're not coming back tomorrow). And honestly? It never worked. The louder I got, the harder she planted. The faster I tried to scoop her up, the smaller and stiffer she went.
So this time I didn't reach for her. I got down on the mulch to her level, which is not glamorous at 5pm with my knees, and I told her what was coming instead of barking an order. Two more slides. Then we walk to the gate. And I let her be the one to pick which two.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve and held up two fingers back at me like she was making the rules. Two. She climbed up, came down, climbed up, came down. And when she reached the bottom the second time she just stood up and slid her hand into mine, and we walked to the gate together.
what I found myself saying
"I stopped pulling her and got down low: two more slides, then the gate."
"You pick which two. You go, then we walk to the car together."
"I know. You're not ready. It's hard to leave when it's this fun."
