didi and the too-bigs

Yesterday I took the kids to a popular local playground. It was a beautiful day, yellow sunlight filtering through the trees, just cool enough for a scarf. As we approached the playground, Frances looked up at me with her big eyes and said, Maybe we'll meet some new friends today!!
I heard all the screaming and boisterous play coming from the playground, and I thought: uh, maybe, yeah. Frances is intensely social, but also - perhaps because of that - she can feel overstimulated, a little manic, brittle, in big busy social settings featuring lots of kids off their leashes. (Did I just suggest children are like dogs? Yes, I think I did.) Let's just say many a meltdown has occurred in the vicinity of the swings.
You may be wondering who the too-bigs are. That moniker dates back to the 2007-2008 toddler class at the New School in Lancaster, and refers to the big kids who can take over a playground in seconds, who can knock a toddler off her feet as they barrel past on the bridge or push a tentative three year old aside at the top of the slide, making him fear for his life. Too many too-bigs can ruin a perfectly pleasant day at the playground.
So, back to yesterday. Frances takes stock of the social opportunities before her, looks at me a little grumpily, mutters something about how there aren't kids here her age to play with. I suggest we hop aboard the planet taxi, which always cheers her up (a little platform featuring the solar system in relief). Gabriel adores spinning the big wheel opposite the planets and Frances starts her imaginary play motor running, chattering about tickets and which planet we'll be stopping at first and how long it will take us to arrive. She tries engaging other kids, but no luck. She is so earnest about it! She climbs up to the next platform to ask an older girl in sparkly pink mary janes if she'd like to join us on our planet taxi? because we're visiting all the planets and you can get on board! Do you want to play? And the girl looks askance, tilts her head to one side, and informs Frances she is already playing with someone else and doesn't want to. And then she runs past towards the wobbly bridge.
Oh, it pains me!
Frances is getting discouraged. She heads for her most successful spot - the place she has roped in countless children before - the pretend ice cream store. This is a little window she can lean out of and hawk her 'cinnamon surfer' and 'chocolate chocolate chocolate' flavors to all the kids heading up the stairs to go down the big slide. It's prime real estate. But today, what is with these kids?? No one wants any pretend ice cream! Gabriel is admirably game; he keeps repeating CHOCOLATE! and smiling, almost falling off of some nearby climbing apparatus, waiting for the actual chocolate to appear. Suddenly I notice about 5 older boys have surrounded Frances and her ice cream stand. They look between 6 - 8 years old, and they are standing a little too close to her. Their ringleader is whacking his hand violently on the top of the stand, almost immediately over her head. She looks out of her depth. I feel my feet moving towards the scene before I even know I'm going to intervene. I hear the boy tell her we don't want your ice cream in a rather not-nice tone. I squat down so I am eye level with him. I feel hot rage coursing through me and I tell him with quiet restraint that he is not being very nice at all. Would he and his friends give her a little space? Go play somewhere else. And when I finish, I find I am staring at his still-whacking hand. He looks at it too. He explains sheepishly that's he just bouncing a pretend basketball upside down on this part of her ice cream restaurant.
He is a little boy, after all.
Frances looks at me, disoriented. I cheerfully suggest we take Gabriel to another part of the playground, maybe play on the swings, okay? On the way Frances mournfully wonders out loud why none of the kids want to play with her today. My heart breaks a little. I help Gabriel up to a slide and watch him go down it. I help him again. Perhaps 2 minutes have passed. I turn around and Frances is running across the playground hand in hand with our basketball bully. She catches my eye and yells WE'RE PLAYING GHOST TAG AND ZACHARY IS MY PARTNER!!!!
He smiles at me too.
For the rest of our visit, she is playing ghost tag hard, running like crazy, screaming louder than any of them (and you know she can), finding and losing Zachary over and over, informing every parent and grandparent on the playground of the rules of the game while she catches her breath. (Someone is the ghost; that's all I could figure out). She is plotting, directing, heading off to do some tricks that will help her game, heading back into the fray, a small girl among many bigger boys in a bright blue old pilly fleece jacket and uncombed hair. She is mine.
But how did it happen? How did she do it? I realize that my own memories tell me a lot about social misfires, feeling funny and let down, feeling outside of some social reality I can't quite crack or understand. But this quality Frances has, this charisma and confidence she can access - I was never that kid. So I don't expect her to be, but so often, she is. She got off the planet taxi, strode right into life on earth, and made it hers.
Was it a good idea to tell those boys to back off earlier in the afternoon? I'm not sure. They looked physically intimidating and it scared me. But Frances showed me she can handle it - not just handle it, she can excel in it. A ragamuffin queen of the too-bigs! I'm the one who needs to back off. She's got this.
And in some future posts, let's talk about the fact that a group of boys is far easier for her than a group of girls. Let's also talk about the image of Gabriel yelling DIDI!!!! and toddling after Frances as she booked across the playground with Zachary and his friends, totally unaware of him. Let's talk about sibling relationships.

My little ringleader, a sometime too-big herself.