Saturday, March 16, 2013

Playground palpitations

Yesterday's spring-like weather had me rushing the kids out the door the second they finished breakfast. I love winter, but man, was I ever excited about the prospect of getting the kids outside so they could burn off some energy. This time change has played heck with naps and bedtimes, so I was determined to wear them out today.

We hit the gloriously fenced off Shaw Park so I could rest easy(ier) and not worry about Charlie taking off on me. What I wasn't planning on worrying about was Charlie taking a running start off of every slide. And I'm not talking about the baby set. Oh, no. We don't do baby things. Not when there are conveyor belt-style slides and super steep, super fast metal slides just waiting to launch him halfway across the playground.

 [and she's off]

[and little brother is right behind]

Neither of our kids are what I would call chickens, but oh, that Charlie is something else. He is going through a no fear phase and seriously scared the daylights out of me on three separate occasions. And by scared the daylights out of, I mean one time I let out a shrill, "OH MY GOD!" as he went feet-first down—and nearly off the side—of the conveyor belt slide. Immediately after that I grabbed his arm and yanked him upwards a split second before he launched himself face first across the playground. Nylon coats go fast on metal slides, in case you were wondering. And each time he just gave me that crinkly, dimpled grin of his and let out a devilish cackle.

That boy.

 [up to no good]

[charging ahead]

[mocking my concern, no doubt]
Oh, and Mary Clare had fun, too. I think. I was too busy trying to prevent Charlie's imminent death to pay too much attention. Again, thank goodness for that fence. Locking kids up is a good thing.


  1. You could always go down the slides with him. Oh wait.

    1. I have an image of me trying to do that, only to have Rick fly out of the bushes and pull Charlie off of my lap. "Not on my watch!" he would yell. It would be uber dramatic.


Leave a message, please. You know how I love the comments.