A Lesson in Park Etiquette.

I don't remember enjoying playgrounds when I was a kid. I remember some bratty kid coming down the slide to soon after me and kicking me in the kidneys. I remember that it hurt, and that my Mom yelled. It might have actually been my Dad, but there was yelling. I was always the kid who fell off the teeter totter, got sick on the merry-go-round and my bottom (that was always ample) always hated the stupid strap they call a swing seat nipping me.

However, Bridget LOVES the playground. She squeals wildly on the swings and has NO fear on the slides- no matter how high.

So we go to the playground. It's more fun than I remember. It's easier to avoid injury at 28 when you keep your feet on the ground. I really wish I could get up the nerve to slide, but my still ample bottom leads me to envision myself either stuck on the slide or reenacting the water slide scene from Eddie Murphy's Norbit. There are some chances I am just not willing to take.

But I digress.

Today while Jamie and Daniel were training for Daniel's Major League Baseball career (No. I am NOT mocking- he really is quite good) at the neighboring ball diamond, Bridget and I headed to the playground. I was the ONLY Mommy there. There were seven Daddies, with one child each, all playing calmly and being friendly to each other. It was a nice playground. It was a nice day. This playground was A-OK in my books.

Then I see it. The Shirtless Man.

I hate ALL shirtless men who publicly parade around on hot days, with the sweat gleaming on their hairy backs and their bellies protruding over their patent leather belts. Yesssss....I am passing judgement. I don't parade around with my naked belly protruding over my belt no matter how hot. It's just common courtesy.

Anyway. I am trying unbelievably hard to ignore this mans shirtlessness but he is so unbelievably loud that it is impossible to do so. He has arrived with four rowdy boys and an unbearably whiny girl. None of these children were interested in playing with each other. They only wanted to play Tag with the Father. Did Father want to play? Not a chance. Did EVERY ear in the park hear about it. Yes. "Dad, we want to play Tag with you!". "Too Bad!".

Father of the year nominations are soon, I have my voting pen at the ready.

Suddenly I hear his overbearing voice hollering at one of the boys because he keeps running out of his sandals. In the sand. Flip flops may be considered beach wear, but running in sand with them at an Edmonton playground is not a task easily mastered by a 5 year old.

"MUMB BASS"

Ok, so that's not what he said, but this is a family friendly blog. It rhymes, so you can logically deduce what he called the kid when he ran out of his shoe for the third time.

Seriously! Not only is he verbally abusing a kindergartner but he is doing it in front of my 16 month old. My inner loud mouth was silently screaming her head off with all of the things I was dying to say to this man, but really! Would that have made things any better?

I can't say how happy I was when they left. He had grabbed the oldest boy (about 12?) and nougied (how does one spell the word do describe scruffing one reluctant person roughly on the head? Is it even a word?) until he started to cry and took off from the park. The rest followed suit.

I know it was entirely selfish of me to secretly relish the fact that they were gone. I really do feel badly for those poor children, but I definitely heard the collective sigh of relief from all of the other Dad's as that one and his brood walked away. Surely, they were as speechless as I was at the way some people behave towards their children. It was clearly a horrendous task for this man to walk his kids to the park. Perhaps he might have been better off letting them walk alone-they might have had more fun without him.

I am actually quite sad about how it all went down.

So here's my committment to Bridget. I may not always have the time to take you to the park. But I will take you. While we are at the park, we will have fun. Mommy may not love the park, but you do, and you will have fun because that's what kids are supposed to do!

Don't put off until tomorrow...What you can do today!

Let me preface this by saying, I don't own measuring cups. I didn't own a hand mixer until my darling step mom came and wanted to bake cookies for the kids and walked herself to Zellers to obtain one. I do not know what a Bundt pan is for.

Knowing this, you might be suprised to hear that I just baked brownies. Yup. Baked brownies. That's really the only part that the Pillsbury Doughboy trusted me with. He had measured the ingredients, mixed them, put them in a handy package to be squeezed out later, and shipped them to Wal-Mart for me to purchase. All I needed to do was squeeze them into a pan and put them into a 350 degree oven for 25 minutes.

Simple.

That is, one simple detail that one really wouldn't ever think to check got in the way.

It would seem that the last time I cleaned my oven (upon reading this, you might come to conclude I am a forerunner in the Julia Child Impersonator of the Year competition)I put the rack in uneven. That is, the stupid knobby things in the oven are like playing plinko with a vengeful Bob Barker and are impossible to navigate with a 15 month old hanging off your leg and a 90 lb husky carrying out a full investigation.

So, when I confidently strode into my kitchen to check on my masterpiece (which I might add I was trying to suprise the family with at 11:30 pm on a random Wednesday)I was utterly dismayed to find that ALL of the brownie batter had run from the higher side of the pan and out over the lower end. Then suddenly I had a major flashback and remembered thinking, 'Oh, I will just fix it later'.

SO. Tomorrow, while I am diligently cleaning the charred brownie batter from the bottom of the oven, I will be reminding myself to put the oven rack in straight, because clearly, I can't remember to fix things later.

Pat on the back for me. I am going to try to salvage what chocolatey goodness might still remain in the bottom of side of the pan!

Oh, and if you were thinking of coming to my house for any holiday dinners in the future...I am thinking reservations at a place with real napkins might be a safer bet!

Have a great one,

Amy