Lao Tian enrolled his son in a football class during the winter vacation. I was very puzzled and asked him: The Chinese men's football team is like this, do you still let your son play football? Lao Tian said: You don't understand this, take advantage of this time to copy the bottom.
Sorry, the Chinese men's football team, like the Chinese stock market, has no bottom.
The football class lasts ten days, five days years ago, and five more days years later. When I was going to play football years ago, a wave of cold air came from Shanghai, and my mother-in-law immediately suggested: Xiao Shen, I want to let you play football, oh, you want pneumonia.
When the cold air was gone, shanghai began to rain again, and the mother-in-law said: Xiao Shen, I want to let you play football, oh, you want pneumonia.
see？ The Chinese men's soccer team may not work because their grandmother is too precious.
Lao Tian yelled at his mother: If you don't go to class in football class, you can't refund money. The mother-in-law stayed for three seconds, and immediately decided to take Oda to the court as soon as she resumed training in the new year— even if she went under the knife.
This is the power of capital.
Unexpectedly, when I returned home on the first day of training, Oda cried and called me at work: Mom, it's not good, something is wrong.
I asked him what the problem was?
Oda cried and cried for half a day, oh, it turned out to be a sprained wrist while guarding the door.
I asked him again: Does it hurt so much?
Oda said: Very powerful, so powerful that I can't write homework and play the piano.
Book that.
When I got home from work, Oda was half lying on the couch, saw me, and immediately pounced on me: Mom, I am so pitiful, he arched his head into my arms, arched while saying: You hurry up and touch the baby's head.
I hesitated for two seconds: Is it normal for an eight-year-old, second-grade boy to spoil like this?
But I still touched my son's hairy little head, he was quiet, the whole person desperately drilled into my arms, he milk said: Mom, you come to help my hand blow a blow.
It was the game we had been playing as a child: where it hurt, we blew him a breath, and the pain flew away. I thought it was cute to play this kind of game when I was in kindergarten, but he is now eight years old.
I'm a little unsure, it's okay to let him play like this.
Oda was still lying in my arms, he repeatedly said that his wrist hurt so much, he asked me to rub it for him, he wanted me to coax him, he wanted me to sleep with him at night, he was like a dog, showing a soft belly and snorting.
Old Tian smacked his mouth, and he said to his son: Well, it is a twist of the wrist, how to be like a little girl endlessly.
Oda jumped up and glared at his old man and said, "Then I'm in so much pain!"
Lao Tian replied: What is the point of a man's injury! You're girly! When Dad broke his hand before—
Oda didn't give Dad a chance to continue bragging, he grinned, pounced on my shoulder and cried: Bad Dad, he said I was girly, whining, bad Dad... I don't want to see him again...
Lao Tian was still adding fuel to the fire: cry, cry, cry, you know how to cry.
The family was instantly in chaos, and Lao Tian and Oda were like two fighting cocks, each hunched over, circling each other, ready to jump up and tear apart his opponent's mouth.
I was sandwiched in the middle, while coaxing Oda, while pulling away Lao Tian, Lao Tian was so angry that he stomped his feet, and he shouted to his son: Ma Bao, you will be a Ma Bao from now on!
Oda immediately shot back: "Then you are Mommy Daddy!" Mommy Daddy!!
Oda sobbed on my shoulder, an eight-year-old kid who was really different from the boy I imagined: he was sensitive, timid, soft, spoiled, and squealed. Sometimes I also worry: if this continues, will he become a female cannon?
If you have a daughter, you can spoil her as much as you want; you can raise a son: you spoil him too much, and you are afraid that he will become a mother' treasure; you do not spoil him, and you are afraid that he is like a weed.
Where exactly is this line? An eight-year-old boy wants to kiss you, do you want to push him away? An eight-year-old boy wants to hug you, or should he refuse him? The eight-year-old boy is always talking in a milky voice and wants to stick to you, do you want to correct him?
There is no standard answer for a boy's mother in this world, and I want him to be a soft person, but I also want him to be a stoic person. If a person cannot get all the spoils in childhood, how can he use his memories to resist the chicken feather world when he grows up?
Oda rubbed his eyes and leaned over my shoulder and said, "Mom, I definitely haven't been able to write my homework and play the violin in recent days."
I was silent for a moment and asked him: Can I play cards?
Oda thought about it and said, "I can overcome this."
Whether my son will become a mother treasure I don't know, but at least for now, he is a living treasure.