Playground Hog
Our nearby big-box store moved yesterday. Instead of being located in a scary neighborhood two miles from our home, it’s now in an artificial neighborhood in the mall five miles from our home. Everything but the physical building literally disappeared overnight, much like my remaining respect for Bronson Pinchot and the rest of the Surreal Life cast; one day I have to drive two miles for shampoo, the next day I have to drive five. I have mixed feelings about the move: On one hand I have to drive twice as far, navigate a poorly designed parking lot, and fight with Old Navy and Suncoast shoppers every time I need to buy a bottle of laundry detergent. On the other hand, I can also take Abbie to the mall playground at the same time, like I did yesterday on my inaugural visit to the store.* Here are some quick observations that may have little in common except that they all happened yesterday at the mall playground.
I spend much of my time at the playground actively playing with Abbie. Another Active Parent, a mother with her 15-month-old son, caught Abbie’s attention as soon as we arrived. When Abbie wandered up to him, the mother asked them to say hi to each other. I apologized and explained that she doesn’t talk yet. She replied that he doesn’t talk yet either, which makes me feel a lot better. Considering that children are supposed to have a vocabulary of five words by 12-months, I know plenty of children who pass that stage with no words. I’m not sure Ashton Kutcher’s vocabulary is much beyond five words.
Yesterday was apparently grandparent day at the playground because once the other Active Parent left I was the only guardian under age 50. Everyone else in attendance was of grandparent age, sitting on the sidelines. I overheard one small boy asking his grandfather to stand up and play with him, but he turned him down because he’s too big to play on the playground. His weary bones were doubtlessly hoping the boy didn’t notice me, the Active Parent, helping Abbie climb castles. I only wish I could convince her to play on her own by telling her I’m too big to play.
After running around briefly, Abbie found a book that she wanted to read. The playground has many books, and this one was supposed to be a lift-the-flap book, except that these books, when shared by many children in a public place, quickly become guess-what-the-flap-that-used-to-be-here-looked-like-before-it-was-torn-away books. She really liked this book with all its bright colors and gaping flap holes, and by the time we read it twice, it had attracted a slightly older boy who wanted to read it too. Since we were visiting the playground not to read germ-covered books, but to play on germ-covered equipment, I decided to let the boy have it so we could play. The boy greedily accepted it when offered, and ran off to take it to his mother. Abbie was filled with pride because she shared so another child could enjoy the same thing she enjoyed, and giggled with the pleasure of sharing. Just kidding. She screamed hysterically at the sight of another child running away with her book. We need to work on that sharing thing.
After I calmed her down, we played on the equipment for a long while. She’s getting very good at navigating the hill in the castle; she can walk up and down it without falling provided she’s holding tightly onto my hands the entire time. This is an improvement over a few weeks ago when she would still fall when walking down the hill even while holding my hands.
Following many trips up and down the castle hill, I prepared to leave. As I did, I witnessed the rudest and most inconsiderate action I’ve ever seen at the mall playground, at least among the adults. I woman, a grandmother of course, was sitting on the sidelines clipping her fingernails, just letting the severed nails fly. The only way she could have appeared more oblivious to her surroundings is if she were talking on a cell phone while trimming her nails.** It offended me to no end that someone would willingly spread their fingernails all over an environment where small children are running barefoot; I find the concept of someone else’s fingernail embedded in my foot disgusting. I lived with people who had a similar habit in college and it disgusted me then, but that was a little different since you have to trim your nails somewhere and if not at home then where. Plus we were all smart enough to not try eating a fingernail shard we find on the floor, unless alcohol was involved, but that’s a different issue entirely. I shot her a dirty look as we left, but I’m sure Ms. Oblivious failed to notice. Abbie complained when we left probably because she wanted to keep playing, or maybe she just wanted discover what detached fingernail tastes like.
* Verdict: It’s a big-box store. In a mall. Whoopee.
** She was, by the way, talking on a cell phone at the time.
I spend much of my time at the playground actively playing with Abbie. Another Active Parent, a mother with her 15-month-old son, caught Abbie’s attention as soon as we arrived. When Abbie wandered up to him, the mother asked them to say hi to each other. I apologized and explained that she doesn’t talk yet. She replied that he doesn’t talk yet either, which makes me feel a lot better. Considering that children are supposed to have a vocabulary of five words by 12-months, I know plenty of children who pass that stage with no words. I’m not sure Ashton Kutcher’s vocabulary is much beyond five words.
Yesterday was apparently grandparent day at the playground because once the other Active Parent left I was the only guardian under age 50. Everyone else in attendance was of grandparent age, sitting on the sidelines. I overheard one small boy asking his grandfather to stand up and play with him, but he turned him down because he’s too big to play on the playground. His weary bones were doubtlessly hoping the boy didn’t notice me, the Active Parent, helping Abbie climb castles. I only wish I could convince her to play on her own by telling her I’m too big to play.
After running around briefly, Abbie found a book that she wanted to read. The playground has many books, and this one was supposed to be a lift-the-flap book, except that these books, when shared by many children in a public place, quickly become guess-what-the-flap-that-used-to-be-here-looked-like-before-it-was-torn-away books. She really liked this book with all its bright colors and gaping flap holes, and by the time we read it twice, it had attracted a slightly older boy who wanted to read it too. Since we were visiting the playground not to read germ-covered books, but to play on germ-covered equipment, I decided to let the boy have it so we could play. The boy greedily accepted it when offered, and ran off to take it to his mother. Abbie was filled with pride because she shared so another child could enjoy the same thing she enjoyed, and giggled with the pleasure of sharing. Just kidding. She screamed hysterically at the sight of another child running away with her book. We need to work on that sharing thing.
After I calmed her down, we played on the equipment for a long while. She’s getting very good at navigating the hill in the castle; she can walk up and down it without falling provided she’s holding tightly onto my hands the entire time. This is an improvement over a few weeks ago when she would still fall when walking down the hill even while holding my hands.
Following many trips up and down the castle hill, I prepared to leave. As I did, I witnessed the rudest and most inconsiderate action I’ve ever seen at the mall playground, at least among the adults. I woman, a grandmother of course, was sitting on the sidelines clipping her fingernails, just letting the severed nails fly. The only way she could have appeared more oblivious to her surroundings is if she were talking on a cell phone while trimming her nails.** It offended me to no end that someone would willingly spread their fingernails all over an environment where small children are running barefoot; I find the concept of someone else’s fingernail embedded in my foot disgusting. I lived with people who had a similar habit in college and it disgusted me then, but that was a little different since you have to trim your nails somewhere and if not at home then where. Plus we were all smart enough to not try eating a fingernail shard we find on the floor, unless alcohol was involved, but that’s a different issue entirely. I shot her a dirty look as we left, but I’m sure Ms. Oblivious failed to notice. Abbie complained when we left probably because she wanted to keep playing, or maybe she just wanted discover what detached fingernail tastes like.
* Verdict: It’s a big-box store. In a mall. Whoopee.
** She was, by the way, talking on a cell phone at the time.
posted by Matt at
9:21 PM
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