My lovely wife jetted off to a surprise party for her father’s 80th birthday this past weekend, leaving me to wrangle my two little ones through their last weekend of the summer out at my mom’s place in Quogue (where they’ve been since early July). At the risk of beating a well-worn cliche into ground, it's hard to believe the summer's already over. Seems like only yesterday it was July 4th weekend. Where does the time go?
Charlotte, my eldest, had been dreading Labor Day for weeks -- frequently informing anyone within ear shot that she was going to hide on Labor Day so that we couldn't drive her back to the city. She'd also recently taken to vociferously bemoaning the concept of homework which, as a budding first grader, she's soon to have her first interaction with this year. I can't say I blame her very much on that one.
Oliver, my littlest, has been a bit more stoic on the notion of the coming school year. While Charlotte starts school tomorrow (Wednesday), Oliver doesn't begin his new semester of pre-K until next Monday, giving he and my wife a few more precious days together before he starts a brand new regimen that will have him out of the house all day for the first time. It's a milestone that makes both Peggy and I quite misty.
There was a moment this weekend, though, that really stuck the point home for me. I used to hate going to playgrounds with my kids. If you read back to some of my earlier posts on The Dad Zone, you can read screed after screed about how I lamented the dependably irritating elements of the playground experience, chief among them being the plague of "bigger kids" who thoughtlessly run roughshod around areas clearly meant for littler folk. I used to stand like a salivating hyena, poised to pounce at any point on an offending older child that dared to sully the proximity of my tiny two. It used to really set me teeth on edge.
In any event, this past weekend, I brought Charlotte and Oliver to a newly-discovered playground in Westhampton Beach. At one point in the proceedings, Oliver was happily scampering up and down over a large jungle gym. Quite nearby stood a fellow father, watching over his son, who was probably about two years old. At one point, my little boy hopped off the bars, prompting this other father to mention to his little boy, "Look out for the big kid, now, Danny."
It was bound to happen, of course. But it really broke my heart. While still only aged 4 and 6, my little children are growing up.
To my fellow parents and new parents out there, I implore you; enjoy them while they're little. They sadly just don't stay that way.
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