While Full Speed is doing his thing at a morning soccer camp this week, T.Puzzle and I checked out storytime at the library.
We have a spotty past with storytimes. In theory they seem like a wonderful thing. In practice they tend to take nightmarish turns. Essentially quiet sitting+crowded room=disaster.
I figured with T.Puzzle being older and since I was playing him man to man, I had a decent shot at some actual enjoyment of the experience.
As we filed in the soon-to-be overcrowded room, I still felt confident. I believe the line between confident and crazy is paper thin.
Then, the backslide into silliness began.
T.Puzzle couldn’t keep up with all the steps of the African dance that accompanied the safari story. He folded his arms, pouted and defiantly declined to participate. He plopped to floor and I could see a tantrum starting to brew under his frowny face.
I refused to let him win.
I grabbed him close and positioned his ear so that I could speak directly in it.
“If you want to go to the park after this, you better adjust your attitude and participate the best you can. If you continue with this stinky face I’m taking you home and putting you to bed.”
From that point on a finer African dancer I have yet to meet.