First of all, I’m pretty certain that I’m going to stop writing about raising a boy in Brooklyn, when we move from Brooklyn. We are moving to Portland at the end of this month, and while I’m looking forward to the move, I’m feeling like Brooklyn Dad is going to be something less than it has been. I’m appreciative of the record of his first couple years, but for now I’m feeling a little ambivalent about continuing. I’ve started using Day One a bit more, which is a journaling app for the phone and computer. It’s keeping me reasonably, if intermittently, honest about keeping the record going. The public part of this (well, quasi-public, considering that there are a very small number of people who read this blog) is, well, I don’t know how I feel about that part.
More mundanely, we went to the playground today, after going with great success yesterday. They’ve installed (well, situated) an imagination playground at the 9th street Harmony playground, at Prospect Park. Yesterday, on a great sunny day, we played with those blocks, then went on (as we call them) the squeaky bridge, then the wobbly bridge. Then after some guiding and cajoling, even the corkscrew slide! My god, the corkscrew slide, man! The corkscrew slide!
Today, it was pretty empty, and it was raining all morning. B, excited at the prospect of the turny slide, marched right up, went right down…and completely zoomed down the slick, wet slide. Around the slide, onto his butt, his back, his hands. Nothing was hurt (the ground is that soft stuff), but this completely freaked the kid out. The one parent who was witness to my all-star parenting moseyed over, impressed, to tell me he was hauling ass at ‘superhero speed.’ It was 5% scary, but the rest hilarious. Like I could see in slow motion the unfolding of my mis-judgment about the slide’s speed, then super-fast speed up of flailing child down the slide.
I finally got him to go again sitting on my (now soaked) lap, and we went a few more times this way. I’m hoping he isn’t put off of the slide now, but we will see. He was all, ‘don’t want the wobbly slide!’
So yeah, good stuff. My single parenting week continues. I’m not even going to go into the FaceTime with nana, where I thought it would be funny to stuff him into a couple of taped-together boxes, and he started getting stuck and then crying. I’m simply taking credit for video chatting with my mother-in-law. It’s a fathering clinic round these parts, I tell you. A clinic.