Here in the Northeast we have indoor playgrounds. Pretty nifty in sub zero weather. My son loves the playground. He stands in the middle and makes a joyful screech as all of the bigger kids dash around him.
As I have mentioned before, my son loves wheels. I watched as he pushed a plastic cop car around the brightly padded tarp. I was chatting with the other dyke mommies when I realized an evil little girl had stolen his car, jumped in it and was trying to run him over.
That evening, I relayed this story to my wife. She works with a lot of kids, and is pretty good with them.
“Did you talk to the little girl, and explain to her your son was playing with the car? You could have told her that she needs to let him play with it but she could have it in five minutes,” she asked.
“No. I grabbed lil’ guy from underneath the wheel and gave her a dirty look. Next time I saw her, I muttered, ‘I’m watching you’.”
“I don’t know that kids get that kind of subtlety.”
“Well. Where was her mother, anyway?”
I guess I have a lot to learn about the playground.