Lately, I've been having problems with Willow clinging to me, not wanting to be left at the YMCA's Y-Play child care area while I work out.
Today she was a little clingy, but not too bad, just a few whimpers, then she was off.
No, today's problem was getting her the heck out of there when I was showered and ready to go home. I was patient, though, and went under the stairs with her to chat with her, play with her and reason with her that she wanted to go home too.
That's where I met her new friend, a 4-year-old boy, who was graciously sharing a parking-garage thingy with my 18-month-old. Willow loved this boy. Loved him. She chortled every time he spoke, and I mean that, CHORTLED, no little giggle here; she'd throw back her head and bellow out happy snorts, just like her mommy. From what I could tell, the boy only tolerated Willow, but he did a good job at it, complimenting her when she pushed Matchbox cars up the ramp, for example.
I had a mission, so I got to it.
"Willow, I'm going home; do you want to go with me?"
I said several other things like that, but Willow wasn't budging; she wanted to play with this great, great boy.
The boy started helping me: "Willow, your daddy is here. You need to go home with your daddy."
Willow wasn't having any of it, but I thanked the boy for his help.
"My daddy is on a ship," the boy said.
"On a ship?"
"Yeah, he's on a ship in the water; he's out on the water," the boy said.
"Is he a sailor?"
"Yes. I don't see him very much."
At this point, I should have said something like, "I'm sure you're very proud of your daddy," or something like that. But I didn't. I let the dialogue lapse.
The boy redoubled his efforts on Willow: "Willow, your better go with your daddy."
Willow started coming with me out from under the stairs, but I stopped her.
"Can you give him a hug first?"
She stepped over to him and wrapped her arms around him and placed her head on his left shoulder. She stayed there a long time. The boy was trying to pull away, so I stepped in and grabbed Willow's hand.
"Let's go, Willow. Let's go home."
Today she was a little clingy, but not too bad, just a few whimpers, then she was off.
No, today's problem was getting her the heck out of there when I was showered and ready to go home. I was patient, though, and went under the stairs with her to chat with her, play with her and reason with her that she wanted to go home too.
That's where I met her new friend, a 4-year-old boy, who was graciously sharing a parking-garage thingy with my 18-month-old. Willow loved this boy. Loved him. She chortled every time he spoke, and I mean that, CHORTLED, no little giggle here; she'd throw back her head and bellow out happy snorts, just like her mommy. From what I could tell, the boy only tolerated Willow, but he did a good job at it, complimenting her when she pushed Matchbox cars up the ramp, for example.
I had a mission, so I got to it.
"Willow, I'm going home; do you want to go with me?"
I said several other things like that, but Willow wasn't budging; she wanted to play with this great, great boy.
The boy started helping me: "Willow, your daddy is here. You need to go home with your daddy."
Willow wasn't having any of it, but I thanked the boy for his help.
"My daddy is on a ship," the boy said.
"On a ship?"
"Yeah, he's on a ship in the water; he's out on the water," the boy said.
"Is he a sailor?"
"Yes. I don't see him very much."
At this point, I should have said something like, "I'm sure you're very proud of your daddy," or something like that. But I didn't. I let the dialogue lapse.
The boy redoubled his efforts on Willow: "Willow, your better go with your daddy."
Willow started coming with me out from under the stairs, but I stopped her.
"Can you give him a hug first?"
She stepped over to him and wrapped her arms around him and placed her head on his left shoulder. She stayed there a long time. The boy was trying to pull away, so I stepped in and grabbed Willow's hand.
"Let's go, Willow. Let's go home."
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