A fifty degree day in February is reason enough to take the kids to the park, right? I thought so, too. Especially on Tuesday, when my husband left the house at 8:30 a.m. not to be seen again until after 9:30 p.m. I realize this is normal for a lot of households, but it’s taking some getting used to in this house. So, I’m trying to make Tuesdays special for the kids so none of us get overwhelmed by all the time together without a break.
So, on Tuesday we headed to the park … the one with playground equipment as opposed to the one across the street where we have to make our own fun on the bleachers, the ball fields and in the dugouts. We had the place mostly to ourselves. A couple of couples strolled and sat while we were there (and a woman brought her overfriendly Lhasa to meet us and give us kisses — the dog gave us kisses, not the woman), but mostly it was just the three of us.
One highlight: the kids deciding they were going to spin me on the merry-go-round. I enjoyed the break. Now, if only I could somehow make this transfer to say, breakfast in bed or a foot massage.
Another: Isabelle wanted me to help her climb the firepole. When I told her you usually went down the firepole, she asked me to demonstrate. Me. The 30-something-mother-of-two who is still trying to lose the baby weight (and the desk job weight) from five years ago. Nothing good could come of this, I was certain, but I wasn’t about to disappoint my daughter. I did wonder if she’d be able to call 911 if I, say, fell off the playground equipment and crushed my skull. OK, now that you’ve seen the irrational side of me …
I approached the pole with all the confidence of a 12-year-old who has just been dared to do something because they oversold their ability to do it. I grabbed the pole with my hands, wrapped my legs around it, closed my eyes and slid ever so gently down the pole to the gleeful sounds of my children’s cheers. Funny how when you’re an adult, you get to the bottom of the pole meant for grade schoolers a lot quicker.
I’m sorry to say I don’t have any photos of this. Or maybe I’m not sorry. Maybe next time.
And speaking of next times, my son gave me a second chance this week to get this shot.
Yeah, he’s gonna love that when he’s 15. He insisted on wearing the tutu the kids’ aunt Charlotte made for our daughter for Christmas.
Not to be outdone, our daughter donned a dress and gave the performance of her life.
Take a look. (And try to ignore the mess that is our living room.)
Those are the things that are still making me smile at the end of the week.
What’s got you giddy with glee this week?