Yep, tonight was not the night for our family to go to "Chic A Way" (that's toddler code for Chic Fil A). But with our house on the market and literally the 27th agent wanting to parade potential buyers through the place, we had to find somewhere to hang out from 6-7pm on a Saturday night. So after loading up three worn-out kids and two yappy dogs and one tired husband, we headed to our potential new home to drop the dogs off and then on to <s>doomsday</s> dinner.
It all started off mildly. After downing the required chicken nuggets to earn a prize and get to play, our boys bolted for the play area. Sweet daughter stayed at the table to have her book read to her. At the playground there was running and sliding and jumping; and then came the shoving and pulling and hitting... which was from our 2 year old going on 3 toward both another giant too-big-to-be-in-the-play-area kid and also toward our oldest son. The preteen kid gave my youngest a hip check, which knocked him on his tush, and the left the play area. The the little guy turned to his older brother. My oldest initially held our little one at bay by grabbing the little boxer's shoulders and keeping them in place by locking his arms. Then the baby of the family somehow twisted, turned and punched his older brother. So Daddy jumped up in the middle of the aforementioned and by the time he got to the boxer, the wailing had already happened. Oldest was unscathed and went on his merry way while the boxer was being lectured by Daddy and was warned not to punch/kick/bite his older brother or anyone else. Before the playground's door was opened as Daddy had his back turned and walking out, sure enough The Boxer ran up to his brother and socked him. Sigh. So Daddy scooped him up so he would be in exile(aka have to sit at the table) while other kids got to play.
Then moments later a lady seated right next to the window into the play area, approached me and said, "Is your son the one with the red shirt?" "No, he has the striped yellow shirt on." "OH!" she replied. "The boy in the red has him cornered and is punching and kicking him." "Whaaat?" So I run in around the blind spot and by this time my kid had gotten away from the psycho, and psycho says to me, "He wouldn't quit making a weird noise and singing." I said, "EXCUSE ME? You think that gives you the right to punch him?!" Psycho said, "It annoyed me and I told him to stop but he wouldn't." GRRRRRR! I said in my best gansta voice, "You got a problem with my son; you got a problem with me." I asked Oldest what happened, and he replied, "The Boxer hit me!" I have to explain I'm talking about the new incident not the one with his brother. He deflects and says it's no big deal and he's ok. OK, so now the Psycho has intimidated him enough that he's afraid to say what happen. If there wasn't laws on the books, I would have smacked the psycho kid!
Finally, red shirt Psycho leaves after I move our stuff to a table right outside the door where there wouldn't be any blind spots for us. Then it happens. We stupidly and mistakenly let The Boxer get to go back inside and explicitly tell him to not wrestle or fight or hit.
First thing he does? Yep, goes up to his oldest brother and tries to get him to wrestle. Oldest knows that's not ok and tried brushing him off, tries getting away from him, holds him off by extending his arms so The Boxer can't reach him. Then, you guessed it, The Boxer makes his twist, duck, smack move and slaps his older brother across the face. SIGH! I go in and scoop him up and tell him NO! He cries hysterically while I tell him he has to sit on my lap and watch his brother and (twirling-not-a-care-in-the-world) sweet sister get to play.
And then IT happens. He lies. Oh, I know they have all tried this. All of us. At some points and at lots of points in our lives, we lie. I just hate it. He tells me, "Mommy! Mommy! My elbow, brother hit elbow." Pouty lip out as far as possible with a touch of quivering, pointing to his imaginary injury, and tears streaming down his face. It wasn't helping his case whatsoever. He got in BIG trouble over that. MommyCon threw down. Crying and wailing ensued. And we got out of there before CPS showed up.
Sigh. Not the most relaxing time we've had at Chic A Way by any means. Thankfully, no one got truly injured. Thankfully, my littlest learned a lesson about not hurting his big brother, my oldest got a lesson about not letting a stranger just pound on you(and karate lessons will soon be happening), my sweet daughter was oblivious to it all and I got to enjoy reading her the book on birds from her kid's meal, and my littlest also learned his first lesson about how we don't lie. Whew.
Oh, Chic A Way the many games to play.
