Hop

Last year Caleb asked if we could do a playground hop—ie, play at one playground, then go to another, and another and another all in a row.  Like a bar crawl, but more wholesome.

Except covid.

So I told him “When Covid Is Over” we’ll do that.

That day has come.  

I polled my mom friends on the best playgrounds in town.  I made a list.  I mapped out an order.  I packed a lunch and water bottles.  I got my camera and sunscreen and everyone put on shoes and got in the car.

And the day I chose happened to be the hottest day of the year.

Also, Lizzy woke up not feeling so good, and by the time we were trying not to drip sweat in enjoying our picnic lunch at playground #3, she was asking to go home and go to bed.

So playground hop day turned into two playground hop mornings instead.

And it was still 98 degrees.

I inadvertently chose the last playground to be one that had zero shade, so I spread out the picnic blanket in a tiny patch of shade under the play structure for our lunch (And for my collapsing spot, since I also had the brilliant idea of skipping my regular run at home and instead running a little bit at each park, for novelty’s sake.  Which was great except see above re: 98 degrees and zero shade.).

Lizzy woke up the second day feeling much better, but chose to stay home, snug in bed, reading a gigantic stack of Animal Ark books she checked out of the library.  It was probably wise of her to rest, but I also felt a twinge of sadness realizing that she’s probably on the verge of being too old for playgrounds anyway and one morning of them was enough for her.

My babies are growing up! [insert embarrassing mom tears here]

This week the two youngers have been away at Nana’s house, so we only have quiet teenagers in the house who more or less keep to themselves.  Which is how it might be around here all the time in six years or so.  Having teenagers is delightful, but childlike delight in swings and slides is lovely as well.  As each age passes, we gain something wonderful, but also lose something charming, so that one can’t help but have mixed feelings about the passing years.  How thankful I am that nothing good is ever truly lost.

“Why!” exclaimed Peter.  “It’s England.  And that’s the house itself—Professor Kirke’s old home in the country where all our adventures began!”

“I thought that house had been destroyed,” said Edmund.

“So it was,” said the Faun.  “But you are now looking at the England within England, the real England just as this is the real Narnia.  And in that inner England no good thing is destroyed.”