We’re back on vacation, gang! To the beautiful and very nice to us to our faces people of Costa Rica!
On the flight, and missed connection and subsequent 3 hour ride in the back of a pig truck (or probably a van) trip, I gave a lot of thought to my style of parenting.
There’s been a lot of talk lately about Free Range Parenting versus Helicopter Parenting. I’m 100% not sure the difference between the two because I only read the Onion on the internet (we need the views). But from their names I can surmise one is a lot more free, like you let your kid get rides home from school from strangers. And the other one means you push your kid out of a helicopter.
I tend to parent using the Secret Service method. I’m always watching. Always watching. Ready in a moment’s notice to throw myself in front of a bullet. I also like to talk into my shirtsleeve. “Traveler’s on the move…”
I decided it would be better for everyone’s sanity if I dialed it back a little bit. Maybe let our sons get a scratched knee every once and a while. I do draw the line at shoving them out of a helicopter, though.
My first test came when we got to the staggeringly beautiful pool at our hotel (I refuse to ask Diana how much this costs). Luca insisted on not wearing a life vest, even though his version of swimming is paddling with only his mouth above the waterline. I realized his desire to test fate was due to the cute pre-teen who chatted him up, poolside. Yes, this is my five year old we’re talking about.
I decided to let him swim, un-vested. Despite every cell of my body screaming otherwise. While he splashed and jumped and somehow got oxygen into his body, I pretended to ignore him, a few meters away. I stared at the nearby ocean, racking my brain to remember CPR.
I finally relaxed after realizing the pre-teen girl would probably save his life if he drowned.
Tomorrow, I plan on letting him harpoon jellyfish.