This late morning Ralph loaded the kids into the bike trailer and the four of us rode down to the local playground for some runaround time. There I was mostly a spectator to the various contact sports of Daddy-Play which for my husband often involves these factors:
* screeching through the parking lot doing wheelies with the bike trailer
* helping my kids do stuff just beyond their physical ability and enough to make my stomach hurt
* running full-tilt down steep hills with wet grass
* ripping the crotch out of his jeans
By way of example I watched him challenge the kids to a “race” and vault over a cyclone fence in order to “win”. I think he was pretty impressed with himself even though his fellow contenders are younger than him even if you add their ages together and multiply by five. I have yet to see him actually push one of my children down for the dubious victory of, in this case, manning the “Captain’s Wheel” of the play structure – but I think when Nels grows some little boy legs (instead of the stubby toddler kickers he’s got now) Ralph may begin to employ even more dubious methods.
Home; lunch; weekend R&R.