One Morning in Massachusetts

"OK Let's go. You don't need the Functional Histology Book. Let's go..."

Goal: Playground. ASAP. It's cool out, a breeze is blowing, and the sooner we get there the longer she will have to play before the hordes arrive. Plus if I don't get outside I will go INSANE.

So K is off to his job, and the Impling pipes "bah bye" after him. That is, after he has closed the door and walked halfway down the front walk. Our timing needs work. After the usual chaos of breakfast, dressing, reading aloud, brushing teeth, changing diapers, rescuing the phone, etc. etc. etc. the Impling is in the stroller and ready to go.

I only have to come back in twice after we open the door. Once to get the keys (brilliant), and once to retrieve a hat. Make that three times. I forgot her water. OK, out the door. To the park.

The playground is calm, for the moment. Early in the morning, before the swarm of daycare kids arrive, it is a good place to be. The kids are well behaved, mostly the Impling's age. There are 5 to 7 of them, with an assorted mix of mommies, grandmothers, nannies, aunts, and babysitters. Occasionally a dad will show up with a wee one in tow. We say good morning, smile, and give that all important "it's still before 9 and I don't feel up to socializing yet" space. Two of these families are Japanese with not a lot of English (though undoubtedlywith more English than I have Japanese). They are kind and pleasant and attentive to their children. There is one woman who is probably around 7 months pregnant who just comes to walk slowly around and soak up the kids. She is always alone, very friendly, and gives a cheerful wave to the Impling every morning. She kind of freaks me out, she's so friendly. But maybe its just me. Maybe.

The Impling finds some toys to play with. Today, she is investigating what exactly can be done with these:




















We play on the swings. We watch the dogs in the field play. The Impling runs around in circles for a while, than gathers up the odd collection of wood chips, sticks, and pinecones to play with and place in the little plastic buckets that lie scattered about. She spends a good half an hour playing with a water bottle filled with damp sand. It becomes a sort of relic, an icon she dances around as it sits on the ground. Eventually, after she has dumped all the sand out on to the wooden play car, she thoughtlessly leaves it behind. Morning worship is apparently over. On to bigger and better things. The FOUNTAIN.

Idyllic, no?

Then, after 10:00, all hell breaks loose. All right, all right, I exaggerate. It's more like a slow decline into anarchy. The later it gets, the more kids, and the more badly behaved kids, there are. It's variable though.

On this particularly quiet morning, we had one of our nastier encounters. Bully of the day: a five year old with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement. She was calmly assured that the entire playfort was for own personal use that morning, and after the Impling had triumphantly climbed up the tires to the platform to go down the slide, this little beeyotch-in-training blocked her ascent and said with all confidence that she couldn't come up. My response, that EVERYONE was welcome in this playground, was met with a stony silence. She spread her legs, super villain style while the Impling, oblivious to everything but these skinny legs blocking her way, tried to go around her. BIT got in her way. I looked her straight in the eye.

"I would like you to move out of the way of my baby" I said. She gave one quizzical look, moved aside, and ran back over the bridge to her little fort haven. Harsh? Probably. Did it do the trick?
Absolutely. The Impling played on the slide (which she LOVES). Our next meeting was much more respectful. The little girl started to follow us around the playground unobtrusively. Never did meet the mother, though I think I saw her in the distance, deep in conversation with a coffee toting companion.

But of course, I started to replay/analyze the encounter, and came to this conclusion. That as:
A. Maternal unit seemed less than interested in the exploits of her daughter,
and
B. Girl had the evident need to take possession of everything around her,
that
C. this little one probably was growing up with a very limited sense of control over her environment.

So know I feel some sympathy for the kid. At least we'll be more on the same page the next time we meet.

By 11, it is time to head home for lunch, so the Impling waves bye to the playground and we go on our not-so-merry-for-the-moment way.

After lunch, (blueberries, with some blueberries, a microscopic sliver of ham, more blueberries) we read a few books, and the Impling does her howling thing as we confront NAPTIME. She needs her nap. I need her nap. And after about four minutes of "aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhcrazybitchmotheridon'twannanapnononononononononoaaaaahhhhh."
she falls asleep.

Bliss.