Park day

Two young mothers are the only others at the park on this warm late summer morning. They have one toddler apiece, and one of the mommies is armed with a professional camera to catch every shaky step and drip of drool from her child. They follow closely behind their kids, keeping a protective bubble around them and showing great interest in everything they do. "Oh, honey, you climbed the steps, you are so advanced!" "Be careful of the bark sweetheart, you could get a splinter and then an infection and then your finger will fall off." I watch Jonathan run off to play and sit myself on a bench with my book. I have a head cold and need some sleep, and these 20 minutes with my book may be my only respite today. My children have learned to be somewhat independent, as it is the only way we can survive with two parents in school and multiple children. We spend time with them, but we don't hover, and this park is built for children not adults.

I look up to see the mothers glance at me and then bow their heads together and whisper. I imagine they are criticizing my mothering, shaking their heads at how my little boy has just asked two complete strangers to push him on the swing rather than his own mother. "Go ask your mommy," I hear one tell him, a sad note in her voice. They both look at me again. I want to stand and yell across the small park to them, "I have four children! I've pushed those swings more times than you can imagine!" Instead I gather my things and talk Jonathan into going home to get some juice.