I didn't know the park up the street from my grandparents' had a name. It was always just "the playground" to us when we were kids, and we would be "banished" there for half an hour or so after lunch, so our parents could get some freaking peace. The old metal sliding board is gone, and the merry-go-round that I fell off of once and gave myself a giant brush burn on my shoulder that scabbed over and then the scab turned green from chlorine and gave me a scar. But the ancient old swings are still there, and the basketball court, and all the trees.
We're once again in one of those in-between stages, where Shae is probably too big for the baby swings, but she's still too little for the big swings. One of us has to hold her, and she wanted to go on the swings with her daddy, because he's the cool parent I guess (I have to be the Bad Cop, which sucks). He also has more lap, because he's taller. But he is not perfect, because he doesn't let her call him "babe," and he can't get the swings high enough for her to grab leaves off the trees. (Neither can I, of course, but she doesn't know that.)
There are probably thirteen dandelions left in bloom in Pennsylvania -- it's gotten cold at night, and even the tenacious wild strawberries in my yard are about ready to call it a year -- but wherever they are, my kid will find them and pick them. She can spot yellow flowers from a hundred paces.
I'm starting to really look forward to our road trip to Chicago at the end of next week -- it will be nice to see my sister and nephew and brother-in-law*, of course, and I am hoping for weather that isn't too cold so we can run around outside, but mostly I am keeping my fingers crossed for nice views along the interstate.
* This originally said "bother-in-law." Because I am a dumbass. Thanks, My Anonymous Mother!