We have a park within walking distance of our house, and The Boy and I drive by it every night on our way home. "Par? Par? Par?" The Boy has said, pointing his little finger at the car window every night this week. He got used to going to the park everyday while school was out last week. So tonight after dinner, we went down there.
The Boy climbed up the playset and stood at the top of the tallest slide. The husband thought I was watching; I thought he was watching. The Boy stepped right off the top and bounced down face first. He didn't cry, though he now has a bruise on his cheek. He just rubbed his face, said, "Oh! Oh!" and then got up and clambered back into the playset. He scampered through the set and right back to the slide, where he promptly sat down. Quick learner.
"Whee!" The Boy said, sliding down and grinning at the husband and me. Climb and slide. Climb and slide. Over and over, I watched him do this circuit, wondering how my tiny baby had become this tumbly boy. On the next slide, his leg got caught and he went down head first, on his belly. I almost went to get him, but before I rose from the bench, his little face, split wide with a grin, popped over the side of the slide. He giggled and scooted into the mulch, righted himself and climbed back for another go. This time, he carefully arranged himself for a belly-down slide.
"Well, at least he still needs us to go down the big, twisty slide," I told the husband.