It’s that time of year again or maybe it was that time of year as soon as the thermometer hit 60. Either way, jungle gym companies are glad to see the return of warm weather and the parents it ushers into its stores and onto its websites.I successfully refused to succumb to this requirement of suburban family life for more than eight years. And, then, last year I cracked.
My kids didn’t badger me or complain. I’m not even sure they wanted one. I wanted one. Whenever we were outside in the backyard my kids wandered around aimlessly, invariably returning inside to the couch. I wanted to shoo them back outside and tell them to go play. But with what? We didn’t have a pool or swings or even a paved driveway to draw on. I decided for my sanity and their survival we needed a playset.
I actually had visions of summer days whiled away on the swingset or in the attached fort, children’s laughter floating by on a balmy breeze, as I worked uninterrupted nearby.
But I wanted one thing to be perfectly clear. If I was going to take out a second mortgage to finance a playset for my kids, they would have to live on it. I’m not being funny, and this isn’t hyperbole. I mean literally.
The playset we eyed up had a house-like enclosure and a picnic table and was practically as big as my house. It was certainly a suitable dwelling for two smallish people. They could come in for the winter but not until then. And if we ran some electric wire and plumbing to the fort, I might not ever have to see them again.
But as with all fantasies, once realized, the facts on the ground don’t quite match the vision. And so it was with my dream playset.
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