OK, so I keep this Word file on my computer of potential subjects that I want to discuss at length in this blog. And I was perusing the topics earlier this week and I came upon “babies are not like new sneakers” somewhere in the middle.
I couldn’t figure out what the heck I was thinking. “That doesn’t even make any sense!” I must have been sleep-deprived, or perhaps really hungry when I wrote it down, pressed “save” and exited the program.
Then I remembered that it all had to do with this lady that I tried not to watch too carefully at Wienerschnitzel. I’m going to write about it now, before I forget again.
Pretty sure the bib is almost completely useless in this instance.
Sometimes after his swim class, I would take Gavin to Wienerschnitzel. Now, I used to be one of those people who said I would never feed my child junk food or fast food, but when your kid wants a hot dog AND NOTHING ELSE, you tend to go with feeding him Wienerschnitzel rather than let him starve (or scream “HOT DOG!!!!!” like a banshee all the way home).
Anyway, so back to the lady. She was probably in her 60s, and she had 2 small girls with her. I’d guess that these girls were around 3 and 5, and they were probably the lady’s grandchildren. I assumed they were eating hot dogs like my one-track-minded toddler, but it turned out that they were eating ice cream. Our particular Wiener place also served Tastee Freez (or however you spell it).
Throughout the meal (or snack), this lady kept admonishing the kids, “Don’t get ice cream on your dress” and “Be careful with the ice cream.” Which, you know, is totally understandable. Because these kids were basically wearing EASTER DRESSES. To Wienerschnitzel. On a weekday. I tried not to pass judgment. Perhaps this woman was bringing her grandchildren to a party or something.
When my son had almost had his hot-dog fill, the lady four tables away exclaimed, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO GET ICE CREAM ON YOUR DRESS! Now it’s RUUUUUIIIIINNNNED!”
I swear, it sounded like that.
Those two little girls, to their credit, were relatively quiet in the face of their grandmother’s (let’s face it) full-out tantrum. But their grandma made a huge spectacle in this hot dog joint, continuing to make remarks about how the dress was ruined, and how she had warned the girls multiple times not to get ice cream on their dresses.
You guys, I really, REALLY tried not to pass judgment. I TRIED. But I have to say this.
It was a 3-year-old girl. My son was not too much younger than her, and at the moment, he had ketchup on the sides of his mouth. But then, at the same time, he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. That’s what a toddler should be wearing when eating. The woman was acting as if the child purposely and knowingly smeared ice cream on her beautiful Easter dress, in order to piss off her apparently very uptight grandma.
Dear Grandma: If you don’t want ice cream or ketchup on clothes … the child should be eating naked. If ice cream or ketchup (or other messy, staining food) gets on your child’s clothing, it is completely YOUR fault for dressing that child at all!
What does this have to do with sneakers? I remember when I was in elementary school, and I’d get a new pair of sneakers for school or my birthday or whatever. I’d spend so much time and energy just making sure I didn’t get a single scuff or dirt mark on them. And then when I’d inadvertently get them messed up, it was like they weren’t new shoes anymore. They were TAINTED forever. Sure, I still wore them. But they just weren’t “new sneakers” anymore.
Kids aren’t like new sneakers. They are actually still really awesome even after they get ice cream stains on their brand-new shirts or ketchup on their pants. If my son has to look immaculate for any occasion, I let him run around in a diaper and undershirt until it’s time for pictures or whatnot, and then I put the fancy clothes on him. If it is too cold for that, he gets “play clothes” until the Kodak moment.
Anytime he goes to school or the babysitters’ or his grandparents’ house, I fully expect that he will get dirty, that he will fall down, that he will somehow have a scrape or bruise that wasn’t there before I dropped him off. And in my eyes, it is completely OK. (Disclaimer: There is a difference between regular kid scrapes and child abuse, by the way. I’m talking about the regular cuts and bruises that comes with a kid’s curiosity and propensity to get into stuff he shouldn’t. A parent knows the difference.) It is part of being a kid — in fact, it is part of being a human being. We have tried really hard not to react too much when Gavin falls down or otherwise hurts himself, so that he learns how to deal with things himself, and/or learns to come to us if in fact he is seriously injured. Of course, when he fell 3 feet from a ladder at the playground today (he is fine), I couldn’t help but cry with him.
But ice cream on fancy clothes? Unlike the sneakers, I’m still going to love my child just as much before. Unless he takes his hand and purposefully wipes his shirt with it, I know the drips of food all over him are the result of being a child with limited motor skills, not because he wants to ruin my life or add 20 minutes of cleanup time to our routine. Unlike the sneakers, which get replaced every year, this kid is for keeps and I’m just going to continue cleaning him up, patching up his scrapes, and washing his ketchup-stained clothes.
