Other People's Kids are Crazy.

Sammy and I went to Chick-fil-A today, because it's cold outside and he needed to "play somewhere without a book and with a slide." (Best description of a park I've ever heard.)

He loves the play area there and has been begging me to take him back, so I did. Now, Sammy is a lot like me. He loves people, just not people touching him or talking to him or breaking his finger. He likes people at a distance. So when we walk into the play area and he sees four other kids, Sammy says, "Mama, other kids are here. Maybe they need to go now." I smile and reply, "No. I don't think they do. You can play with them. It's ok. They look nice." (They did not. They looked like they wanted to break his finger.) He must have sensed my hesitation, because he moved slowly toward the play area and then turned around and ran back to me. "I want to play in the car up there, but those kids are here. Can you please ask them to not ever touch the car?" I said no and again encouraged him to play nicely with the other children.

Sammy climbs the play scape and plays quietly in the car.

Six year old girl with mullet: "Hey, let's play mama and baby!"
Five year old girl with normal hair: "Good idea! I get to be a mama, and Beatrice (name has been changed) can be my daughter!"
Beatrice: "Ok, but don't spank me a lot."
Six year old girl with mullet: "We won't. There are too many people around!"
Beatrice: "Ok, good. Is Tristan (name has been changed) going to be your baby?"
Six year old girl with mullet: "Yes. Tristan, please roll around and slobber on your hands."
Tristan: "Ok."

Tristan rolls around and slobbers on his hands.

Six year old girl with mullet: "How old are you?"
Five year old girl with normal hair: "I'm five. How old are you?"
Six year old girl with mullet: "I'm six."
Beatrice: "Can I please have a cookie?"
Five year old girl with normal hair: "No, you're my baby, and babies don't get cookies. Go away. We're in a conference."
Beatrice: "But I want to go to the conference with you!"
Five year old girl with normal hair: "You can't, baby. You can't conference."

Five year old girl with normal hair: "We should make up names for ourselves. I want to be Alyssa. What will your name be?"
Six year old girl with mullet: "Owl."
Five year old girl with normal hair: "Alice?"
Six year old girl with mullet: "Yeah."

Sammy slides down the slide and notices Tristan slobbering on his hands. "Mama, why is he doing that?" I say I don't know. Sammy steps over Tristan and climbs up the play scape again.

Six year old girl with mullet: "Tristan, come here, sweetheart. I won't spank you for being bad. I promise."
Tristan: "What? I wasn't being bad! I was being a baby!"
Six year old girl with mullet: "Here, let me nurse you."
Tristan: "No. I'm not hungry."
Six year old girl with mullet: "You are hungry, because I say so, and I'm your mama!"
Tristan: "I don't want to play anymore. I want to go eat some fries. Bye!"

Tristan goes to eat some fries.

Five year old girl with normal hair: "Baby, let's go to the potty. I'll take you. The potty is that car up there."
Beatrice: "Ok."
Six year old girl with mullet: "I'm going to stay here and get some rest."
Five year old girl with normal hair: "Ok, Alice. It's been a long day with these babies. They are so much work!"

Sammy slides down the slide and says, "Mama, those girls think that car is a toilet. It is not a toilet." I say, yes, I know. They're pretending it is. Sammy looks in the direction of the actual restroom and says again, "It is not a toilet."

Crying above. Beatrice slides down the slide.

Six year old girl with mullet: "Where's your mama?"
Beatrice: "I don't know. Probably exercising."

Crying above.

I ask, "Is your sister ok? Is she hurt, or is she just pretending?"
Beatrice: "She might have hurt her finger."
I ask the tunnel, "Sweetheart, do you want me to get your mom? Are you ok?"

Five year old girl with normal hair slides down, clutching her finger. She's still crying. "Beatrice broke my finger! It hurts so bad!"

Beatrice sits down next to Six year old girl with mullet and says, "I didn't break it."

Sammy gives me a hug. "I think we should go, Mama."

Five year old girl with normal hair opens the door, screaming "BROKEN FINGER! OH NO! OH NO!" Her mother rushes over.

Sammy runs after her and shouts, "Look, Mama, that poor little white girl hurt her finger!" (Five year old girl with normal hair was wearing a white shirt.)

Everyone at Chick-fil-A stares at us. We go home.