You’re Lucky Your Parents are Strict

We went to a quasi-new playground over the weekend. I say quasi-new because it was actually in another spot prior to this and the Parks & Rec people moved it.

This is inconvenient for two reasons. One, it’s farther away from my house. I now have an eight-minute commute to the playground instead of five. Two, they got rid of the sandpit, for what I assume are COVID related reasons.

Even though I’d inevitably have to change Theo after a lively sand sesh I still loved the sandpit because it was positioned in such a way by the picnic table that I was able to safely observe my son from a distance, while looking up occasionally from my book.

Mine are So Laid Back it Makes it Hard to Rebel

The thing is, is that playgrounds appear to be built for ages five and up so if you’re letting your two-, three-, or four-year-old on the thing you really need to be watching them every second, even climbing up on the bridges and rock walls to make sure they don’t get a concussion or shove another toddler down a slide.

But not at this playground, if Theo hung out in the sand, which he often did. It was the only public place I felt comfortable reading a book while he did his own thing. And now that’s gone.

I remember being pregnant with Eva, chasing Theo on that playground (a non-sand excursion), and thinking, “Well, he’ll be old enough soon that I can sit at the picnic table while he’s playing. Really not that much longer.”

And then looking down at my large stomach and remembering that it was going to be a very long time before I could read a book at the park.

We’re getting ready to try for number three soon, so my reading in park days are indeed far away. Maybe I’ll just carry a book in my purse and be comforted that it’s there, even if it’s a hardcover and causing the strap to dig into my shoulder.

The playground in the new spot actually looks really nice.

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