I am admitting it here and now... I did it. I was frustrated. I was annoyed. And I did it. I punished my son in the most evil of ways. Forgive me, blogisphere, for I have sinned. First, I ripped him out of a peaceful and serene slumber. Then I shoved him into constrictive clothing from head to toe. Clothing designed to squeeze every last drop of moisture out of your skin by wrapping you in 14 tons of cottony insulation. Then, I put him in subarctic temperatures and pushed him down a steep incline. Actually, I wasn't the pusher. That individual sin is not mine. I was the orderer.... Mark was the executioner. I said push and Mark... he pushed. Yes, friends who now despise me for my evil ways, I admit it. I made my son go sledding.
For whatever reason, Will decided that sledding was a fate worse than death. He was napping when all of his cousins were going and I thought, why make him miss out on this fun activity with the kids? I got him up and shoved him into snow pants, boots, a puffer coat and gloves until he resembled poor Randy Parker who couldn't put his arms down. And, just in case you thought this was a peaceful torture, let me just tell you this. He did not go quietly. He screamed. He cried. He fought those boots like there were hot coals stuffed inside. But, Mommy knows best. I felt certain that once he got out there, he would love it. So, I mummified my little boy and sent him into the darkness for a round of night sledding.
Mark sent him down the hill anyway.
He smiled and said "that was fun."
Mark took him to the top and said let's go again.
Will cried and begged for mercy. Luckily, mercy was granted. Back into the warm car and back to Great Grandma's house he went. One trip down the hill and then back home where he was able to shed his layers and finally stop the madness. One trip down the hill for all of our blood, sweat and tears that went into the sledding adventure. One trip. That's it.
Even though it didn't go well, I am not sorry for the torture I've inflicted. I'm sure I will be when I have to pay the future therapy bills that this debacle will undoubtedly require, but for now I am not ashamed. Hear that, Dr. Phil? I am not ashamed. How will little kids ever decide what they like and what they don't if you don't... well.... give them a little push? Earlier that day Will went nuts about going swimming, but the second his little tootsies hit the water, he was off and swimming like a guppy. Well, like a guppy who has to wear an inflatable ring. If I would have given in to that bout of fear, he would have missed out on a super fun afternoon. Sledding could have been the same way. He could have sailed down that hill in his Rubbermaid tub (yes, we are that ghetto) and gone 100 more times. Or, he could go down once and beg for his life and promise to sacrifice his first born child to get out of going again. Either way, I am not ashamed of a little forced experimentation. That's how brave boys are made. Or, if nothing else that's what I will say when CPS shows up to take him away from me.