A letter to this family
Why don’t you listen when mom says stop playing so rough? Yes I am talking to you too, big adult man who goes by the name of daddy. Believe it or not,I am not trying to spoil your fun, I just know where rough and tumble games end up – usually in the casualty unit at Flora Clinic.
I know that aeroplane rides, and being thrown to the ceiling while your neck flops precariously from your shoulders may seem like a blast, but until you can afford to contribute to the medical aid, I think you should stick to playing with Lego and watching movies while sitting with both feet firmly on the ground.
Daddy, I tell you every time that Hannah is a girl and although only 15 months younger than her brother, she is physically still light years behind Liam developmentally and I don’t know that all that throwing and swinging and rolling over each other with your full body weight is a good idea – even if she is laughing until the tears roll down her cheeks. Liam, although he has a mouth of a 10 year old, is only three and I fear that his shoulders and what ever other ball and socket joints he has, will become undone with all this wild play.
Have you heard of a lag-huil? That’s an Afrikaans phrase which loosely translated means the laugh before the cry. And 9 times out of 10, I see it coming a mile away. I start raising the alarm by warning you guys to slow down, to calm down, to settle down, but you all look at me and roll your eyes as if I’m the parent who turns the lights on just when the slow jams start to play at a teenage party.
I hate to be the party pooper, but call it mother’s intuition, I just know when something or someone is going to fall and break. Like the time you knocked over my vase, Hannah. Or the time you broke my dining room chair, Liam. And daddy, I won’t even mention the number of times you have broken plates, cups, saucers – usually still full of food or liquid. And on all these occasions I can hear my naggy self saying “be careful” or “watch what you’re doing” or “stop before you break it.”
Tonight while rough-housing, I repeatedly told you to stop and do something a little less boorish, wild, and crazy. But noooooooo, not until Liam bumped his head and started crying, which sent Hannah over the edge and daddy sneaking cowardly out of the room to leave mommy to pick up the pieces, did you guys actually SToP!
I was so mad that I didn’t even console anyone, but like the old lady who lived in a shoe, smacked your bottoms and sent you to bed. And now I sit here and feel bad.
You guys are wrong, and don’t play fair. Now I have to eat chocolate to make myself feel better. Please can we all just agree to play nicely, or wear protective gear. I’m serious. I do not want to have to explain to a doctor that your bleeding nose or your concussion is from “playing with daddy.”
I hope this clears this matter up for good.
Thanking you in advance for your good behaviour and calm play,
Your distraught mother