C25 (our one and only) has made their college decision, and it will be just the two of us again come September. In the midst of thinking about everything that has to happen between now and then, my mind has been wandering back to all the special times we’ve had with them, and I thought it might be fun to start a thread where we all could share our memories before our kids are out the door.
I’ll start: We were on a trip to Spain just about exactly 17 years ago when the kid in question was 16 months old. We were out exploring Madrid when we came across a sign for a small neighborhood playground tucked down a side street. My husband had C25 in a backpack carrier and needed a break, so we figured we’d check it out. C25 had a blast running around freed from the confines of the backpack. They went down a slide for the very first time. And then the second. And then the third. And . . . you see where this is going. They met a Spanish boy with a soccer ball who let them try to kick it. They got pushed in a swing. Heaven for a toddler. After longer than we had planned, we somehow managed to stuff them back into the backpack and continue on our way. I suppose this would have been a one-off, pleasant diversion if only C25 hadn’t observed the distinctive sign that marked all such little neighborhood parks in Madrid.
Back out on the main street, we had gone maybe another half mile when our kid started kicking my husband mercilessly in the kidneys. After satisfying ourselves that they were not in pain, hungry, thirsty, etc. we tried to walk further only to have the kicking start up again. We finally realized (we’re a bit slow sometimes) that they were pointing to another of the Madrid Playground signs referenced above. C25 knew there was another magical place nearby, and WE (the cruelest parents who have ever parented) WERE NOT STOPPING.
We tried using gentle words and explaining that while the playground had been fun, we couldn’t stop again so soon. As all of you seasoned parents know, this worked wonders on our precious little darling, and we proceeded with no further incidents.
OF COURSE WE DIDN’T. Madrid—to the benefit of its citizens, but to the great detriment of hapless American tourists—has these little parklets with play equipment scattered everywhere in the city, and they are all marked with the same sign. After our reasoning failed to impress, we made the bold decision to just keep going and hope that we could distract C25 with something else or that they would eventually tire themselves out.
And thus, the good people of Madrid were treated that afternoon to the spectacle of a furious, captive toddler kicking the flanks of their father like a maniacal jockey once every four or five blocks. Seriously. There were playgrounds EVERYWHERE.
That memory never fails to make me laugh (primarily because I wasn’t the one being kicked). We should have realized then just how dedicated our kid would be to rooting out and eliminating the world’s “injustices”—big and small. I’m proud of the person they have become, but I’d like just one more day with them at that age.
We’d stop at every playground.
