There were no themed playgrounds when I was a kid. There were metal slides with sharp edges and hard rubber swings with squeaky chains. Genevieve is growing up in an era of fun lands around every corner.
Julie and I took the wee ones to a Kew Gardens playground off of the F train today. I’m always amazed when I enter a new area of New York City that looks so much like a suburb. You step off a dirty subway train into lawns, sidewalks and large stone houses.
I stripped Genny down to her diaper and let her crawl off into the froggy fountains. She’d touch the large cement frog’s head and then point at one of the other ones. She wanted to be spritzed, but then once she was, she didn’t like it, but then she’d reach out again.
When it was time to head home I tried to get her dressed. The tantrum monster roared out in screams and back arches turning Gen’s little chest red and blotchy. I settled for just getting her strapped into the stroller with her shirt on. How a sweet angel child can turn into such a raving lunatic is hard to figure out—hard to comprehend, but I have seen it with my own eyes and let me tell you, it is terrifying.