The playground on the first sunny Saturday morning in springtime is a fucking war zone.
And this is coming from a guy who has seen more than a few active war zones.
But it’s wild out here.
“Here,” Matt says, handing me an iced coffee while watching his daughter sprint toward the climbing structure where Abby and Annabelle are racing each other to the top.
I take it from him while pushing Amalia in a toddler swing. “Thanks,” I reply, watching my girls as they wait for Madeleine to catch up to them. They’re competitive but they’re friendly about it. I’m convinced that’s a good thing.
“I thought Sam was coming with Davey,” Matt says as he glances around the playground.
The place is huge. Swing sets, rock walls, jungle gyms, multi-level play structures and slides. Even a zip line. Beats the hell out of monkey bars Wes and I had as kids, the ones that could burn two layers of skin off your hands on a hot day.
“He’s over there.” I gesture to the jungle gym, the one designed like a pyramid-shaped spider web. Sam stood at the base of the rope structure, hands on his hips and his gaze fixed on the little boy hanging upside down from the very top.
“Ah,” Matt murmurs. He points his coffee in the direction of his nephew. “So, the cast came off.”
“Must have,” I say.
“And now Sam’s under the impression he can prevent that kid from breaking the other arm today?”
“I don’t know.” I give Amalia a big push and she cackles. Giggles and squeals, all at once. “That kid has no fear.”
“You say that but”—Matt motions to the girls as they race down the climbing structure.
“There’s a difference,” I say, watching as the girls run to the spider web and call their cousin to join them. He descends like he’s immune to the forces of gravity and Sam holds both hands up, as if that daredevil child of his is listening to orders that he be careful.
Annabelle announces the rules of their game, pointing to various landmarks around the playground as she speaks. She’s younger than Abby and Dave but she gives orders like a four-star admiral. They listen when she talks.
“Down,” Amalia says, her hands slapping the sides of the swing seat. “Down, down, down, down.”
“What was that?” Matt teases. He bends down to the swing, cups his ear. “I didn’t catch that. Speak into my good ear, Ami.”
“I want down,” she says to him. She still has that soft, round babyness, and it’s heavy in her little three-year-old voice. She points at the backpack he’s wearing. “Snacks?”
“Yeah, I have snacks,” he tells her.
Matt always has snacks. Good snacks too. It’s one of the top reasons we have weekend play dates like this because at least one of my kids is always hungry.
Amalia twists in her seat to glare at me. Wonder where she got that from. “Down.”
“I heard you, baby,” I say, lifting her up. “Come on. We’ll sit at the bench and find you something to eat.”
We make our way to a bench on the sunny side of the playground, and my brother-in-law dazzles Amalia with apple slices, dried apricots, tortilla chips, cookies in the shape of small bunnies, baby carrots, and cheese sticks. The way she shoves a handful of bunny cookies into her mouth while gripping several carrots in her other hand makes it seem like she doesn’t have the exact same food at home, and plenty of it.
The kids are chasing each other around the playground now and Sam walks toward the bench. He sits down beside me, accepting the coffee Matt offers him. “Why do we come here?” he asks. “That climbing thing”—he waves at the spiderweb—“something terrible is going to happen there. I mean, someone is going to fall off and break their neck.”
“He just needs to learn the right way to fall,” I tell Sam. “That makes all the difference.”
Sam glances at me, then Amalia, and then sweeps his gaze over the playground. “Where’s Addie?”
“Oh, shit. I must’ve left her in the car,” I say, giving him a second to panic before saying, “For fuck’s sake, Sam, she’s with Shannon. You think I forgot about a six month old baby?”
“Listen, I have enough trouble keeping track of one child. I turn around for one minute and he’s scaling a wall. I don’t know how it works with four of them,” he argues.
“Didn’t Shannon go to brunch with the girls?” Matt asks around a mouthful of apple slice.
“She brought Addie to brunch with her,” I say.
“I don’t think they go to these farmers markets for the local vegetables,” Sam says. “All these years and Tiel has never come home with anything other than some crazy stories and lowered inhibitions.”
I stared at him for a moment. Then, “Yeah, Sam. Yeah. That’s the whole point.”