Over Thanksgiving weekend we took the kids to the Phoenix Zoo. We thought “Instead of shopping, let’s have a relaxing family outing.” Half of Phoenix had the same thought.
I had to chaperon carefully while they played at the Tree House because there were just too many rowdy big kids. It was a good opportunity to discuss being patient while taking turns, as some of the stairs were too narrow to have more than one person at a time. As we waited patiently while a gaggle of 6 girls came down the stairs, one of the girls explained why the littlest sister was coming down the stairs so slowly.
“She’s going slow because she’s afraid of the stairs,” she said. “She fell down and broke her nose.”
“Oh, really,” I said. What I really wanted to say was, “I really don’t care, maybe you can help her move it along.”
“Everyone in our house has fallen down the stairs and broken their nose,” she added.
“Really?!” I know children are known for being hyperbolic. But for the purposes of the story, let’s assume she is telling the truth.
I spend about the next two hours, thinking about this statement. “Everyone has fallen down their stairs and broken their nose.”
What kind of house are you living in, kid? Should I have called child services? I understand a lot of parenting comes from first hand experiences. So one would think that after the first kid tumbled down the stairs, parents would become a little more conscientious. After the second kid, wouldn’t one erect some sort of barrier.
Maybe in that house it’s some sort of right of passage to fall down the stairs and break your nose. Like running an obstacle course in boot camp. If you can’t make it through, you get kicked out.