Five Baby Ducks
McKenzie just woke up from her nap and answered a question I had asked earlier this afternoon, leaving me with a smile.
Earlier this afternoon, we were walking through Laurelhurst Park when we came across a sign explaining why not to feed the ducks. At the bottom of the sign was one large duck followed by five smaller ducks. This was a teaching opportunity, so I asked McKenzie how baby ducks there were.
Soon, it became apparent that this was no longer a learning opportunity for McKenzie, but rather for me in handling my frustration. After several attempts, McKenzie miscounted the ducklings each time: counting the same duckling twice, counting the mother duck with the ducklings or skipping ducklings all together. Though I could vividly remember the way I felt at the exposure of my elders’ frustration as a child, I must admit I did not hide my frustration well. We walked back to the car together, me angry and her scared.
I tried to temper my anger with the fact that McKenzie was tired and hadn’t been feeling well these last few days. How successful? Only McKenzie can tell you, and I hope her future assessments of my parenting aren’t too harsh.
And that was that. We came home, and we both napped. My frustration and anger had dissipated with sleep.
When McKenzie woke up next to me, she answered, “Five duckies, Daddy, were following the Momma Duck.”
I smiled and answered back, “That’s right, McKenzie. Very good.”
