Wait, that came out wrong.
I was pushing Boobaby and an older girl on the playground carousel the other day. Her mom wasn’t around (chatting, I think) so I was acting the “nice but not too nice” dad. (Sometimes I feel like I spend most of my life projecting an aura of “harmless.")
Anyway, the three of us were singing and acting daft and generally having a fantastic time for at least 20 minutes, which as you know is like nine hours in “toddler time.” Finally, our new friend was called by her mom to leave. She pointed at Boo and asked me in an earnest little lyric soprano twitter,
“Can she be my friend?”
I managed to keep from crying long enough to sniffle out a little affirmative grunt. This new friend pulled Boo into a hug, kissed her on the forehead, and ran off with her mom.
I wish it were that easy for me.
We’ve tried four new playgrounds in the past two weeks, but they’re all a little wrong. They seem too far away or too affluent. Our local playground is empty of kids and filled with dangerously dated equipment.
But if I’m honest with myself, I see that any of these playgrounds would be fine for Boobaby. All she needs is something to climb on and something to dig in. I’m the one who needs my regular, nearby playground to have a certain kind of adult — not necessarily someone who’ll become a major best friend, but, I dunno — someone who gets me, and vice versa.
Someone like all you blog people, actually. Feel like moving? You can come to my playground! No kisses on the forehead for you, but you can share my cookies!