I wrote about youth sports in a previous hypothetical parenting post. I still don’t know what we’ll do on that front, and thankfully we still have plenty of time before we need to really consider writing that non-refundable league check.
The other day, however, I had the good fortune of watching the kids take matters into their own hands.
Ruthie is right at that age/development where it appears she desperately wants to be a part of Loren’s playtime, and yet is about as mobile as a houseplant. To ease the obviously frustrating situation, I’ve begun “helping” her join in his fun, namely by sitting behind her while Loren and I roll the toy soccer ball (or throw or kick, even when I specifically said not to) back and forth to one another. Every time I get a hold of the ball, I put it in Ruthie’s hands for a few moments and then try to use her hands to send it back to Loren.
Ruthie loves it, and so does Loren for that matter. It should come as no surprise then, that I would find them attempting to play pass the ball without me.
After Loren tried to teach Ruthie how to roll the ball back to him, he quickly grabbed the ball and ran to the other side of the room.
Ruthie sat (right where he left her) at the ready, so excited she looked like she might burst.
From the other side of the room, Loren cocked his leg back, then let her rip…
And nailed poor Ruthie right in the face with it.
Which, if I’m being honest, sort of put me in a tough spot. Part of me didn’t want this to end. I don’t know if I love anything more than watching Loren and Ruthie really play together like friends. Yet I still have to parent. Which means Loren should be in trouble at that point. I did, after all, just tell him to kick it *gently*, just tap it her way – an order which he completely ignored, harming her in the process.
But I also know that Ruthie loves Loren’s attention more than she loves cake (which is saying something if you’ve noticed her knee-cap rolls in these pictures), and on several occasions looked right past his offenses so that she might stare into his dreamy eyes. ”Oh dearest brother, no one throws a cup of water in my face quite like you…”
I grew up enduring similar sibling torment. I understand the conflicting feelings Ruthie has in these moments.
Which is to say, by punishing Loren I’m also punishing Ruthie. Obviously she doesn’t like getting hit in the face with flying objects. But if that happens to be the cost of admittance for one-on-one play time with her big brother, I think she’s willing to pay up.
Of course, after he ran right past her to get the ball (without so much as pausing to apologize), she let the expletives fly.
So I had to reprimand Loren, which meant soccer time was over, much to everyone’s disappointment.
And I had to get myself in check too, because as mad as I was at Loren for hurting his baby sister, I was equally mad at myself for being so proud of catching the whole exchange on camera. I mean, I’m sure Loren was impressed with his kicking ability too, just as I was with my camera skills. That is, Ruthie’s feelings notwithstanding. Which is the whole point really.
Poor younger siblings.
