Having kids is a tricky deal.  When I was a kid, I used to do a lot of stuff for fun, like run around at the pool, play around on the bulldozer and gravel screening machine at the construction site down the street, stay out at the park after dark-all of them against my parents wishes.  Now that I have my own kids, though, I’m supposed to forbid and stop them from doing those same things.  I don’t necessarily want to, but supposedly for their safety, according to my wife, I have to keep them from doing anything remotely dangerous.

Last week, for instance, I took my kids to the park to play on the jungle gym and the sand box and whatnot.  I played with them for a little while, but eventually I got a little worn out and decided to sit on the bench and read while they wore themselves out.  Anyway, at some point I got distracted and the kids migrated over to the old baseball fields where they were doing some major landscaping to make them usable.

My wife came to meet us, and when she got there woke me out of my book trance by asking where the kids were.  I looked up at the playground and didn’t see them, but quickly noticed out of the corner of my eye that they were by the baseball fields and pointed it out to my wife like it was no big deal.  Apparently it was a big deal, though, because she saw one of the kids climbing on a portable screening machine and freaked out.  She made me climb up and get him down.  My punishment was that I had to punish them.

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