I woke up relatively early this morning, and Hamer and I headed to the small square, full of excitement to continue our training. The weather was noticeably cooler than yesterday, but our enthusiasm remained undiminished. We started with agility ladder drills, ran two laps, and played badminton for a while. Just then, Hamer’s classmate arrived. My original plan was to replicate yesterday’s activities: practicing the agility ladder, then playing tennis, and finishing with the ring toss game. However, Hamer seemed to lose interest in the agility ladder. She felt she had practiced enough and didn’t want to continue.
I insisted on sticking to the plan and tried to persuade her to join. At first, she resisted; then, she ignored me entirely, focusing instead on setting up the props for the ring toss game. While I was practicing with her classmate, I noticed Hamer arranging the materials for the ring toss. Deliberately, I told her, “Even if you get it ready, we’re not going to play it right now.” Hamer probably felt ignored, and her frustration boiled over—she burst into tears out of anger. My patience wasn’t great either. Instead of comforting her, I criticized her behavior. Hamer, now even angrier, directed her frustration at her classmate, saying some hurtful things. What had started as a cheerful morning ended in an unpleasant fallout. Frustrated, we hastily packed up and went home.
On the way back, I felt sorry for Hamer’s classmate and saddened by the conflict. Deep down, I realized the situation wasn’t entirely her fault; I bore some responsibility too. I had approached the activity as a structured training session, trying to recreate yesterday’s joy, while Hamer saw it as playtime. By forcing my plan on her, I had ignored her feelings.
When we got home, Xiaoyan was awake, and Hamer ran to her, tearfully recounting what had happened. This led to a family discussion. While we emphasized that it was wrong for Hamer to say hurtful things to her friend, I also admitted my fault in not planning the activity well or communicating my ideas with her beforehand.
After emotions had settled, Hamer turned to drawing. She made a card expressing her love for her mom and, close to noon, handed me a small piece of paper with a mini apology letter written on it. Reading her letter, I felt touched and reflective. I realized I had been too eager to replicate yesterday’s happiness and had unintentionally ruined the moment. Life often works that way—when we try too hard to force joy, we lose its essence. Sometimes, letting things unfold naturally yields better results.
For lunch, I planned to reheat the braised noodles with green beans from the night before but accidentally turned the heat too high, burning them. With the noodles ruined, Xiaoyan stepped in to save the day by quickly whipping up plain noodles. Hamer and I tried to help, but we only managed to create more chaos. Surprisingly, Xiaoyan’s noodles turned out delicious, and both Hamer and I devoured two big bowls. Grandma, however, found them a bit bland and ate only a small portion.
In the afternoon, our family visited the Beijing Science Center’s Children’s Playground for the first time. Hamer was thrilled and quickly captivated by the science-themed toys and exhibits. The center was enormous, with the children’s area spanning three floors. It was well-designed, catering to children’s interests while introducing scientific concepts in fun and interactive ways. We marveled at the place, remarking, “With a free facility like this, who needs amusement parks?” We stayed from 1:30 until the center closed at 4:20, leaving reluctantly. On the way home, Hamer kept saying how much she wanted to come back.
During the ride back, we debated whether to eat out or dine at home and eventually decided on Domino’s Pizza. After dinner, we returned home relatively early. After washing up, Hamer climbed into bed and fell asleep quickly, looking content and happy. We tidied up a bit and went to bed early as well, wrapping up an eventful yet fulfilling day.
