Written on September 27, 2006 6:00 PM
Undeterred by the sand grains in my keypad and a very near-miss with the birdpoo, I have continued to take Benny to the keypark this week. Of course, I’ve been keeping my eye on those giggling birds and my laptop has not been allowed to come along (it is back gathering dust on my desk once again). But, in our secluded little park at the heart of the noisy city, we’ve been having a lot of fun
So much fun, in fact, that the other day I invited a friend of mine and her three year old son to join us. I figured, it was time they experienced the wonder of the keypark for themselves.
As usual, everything started out beautifully. The sun was out, a soft breeze flittered and fluttered in the trees above, and my friend and I snagged ourselves one of the park’s prime benches: in the shade with a great view of the whole park (and not one trace of bird poo on its wooden slats). Our boys skipped off to the sandpit and we sat for over an hour chatting about life, the world, our respective writing projects, and whether we’ll be laughed out of mommy-land because our two three-year-old sons stubbornly refuse to have anything to do with potties, toilets, and supposed “big boy” underwear (am I the only one in the world to find the whole “big boy” lingo a little annoying??).
Only on two occasions did we have to pull ourselves to our feet. Once, when food was demanded and the other time, when Benny performed some dangerous stunt involving a large plastic bus and a rather steep slide.
When home time loomed, however, the trouble started. My friend and I were not the only ones enjoying the keypark. Of course, our darling boys were enjoying the park too and when the announcement came that it was time to leave, cries of “no” and “I wanna stay” could be heard from Staten Island to Westchester. My friend and I were determined mamas though and sticking to our guns, amid the wails and flails, we pushed, prodded, and cajoled the boys into their strollers.
As we headed toward the gate, with sweaty brows and sniveling children, I looked around and noticed for the first time that we were the only ones left in the park. As we got closer to the gate, I also noticed that the security guard was gone and his little cubicle bore a heavy lock and a scribbled sign reading, “Gone to lunch.”
Now, if I wasn’t such a recent member of the keypark, this would all have been fine. I would have simply whipped out my key to the gate and let us out. But, as a newly signed up member, all I own in a small slip a paper which I show the security guard who then lets me in or out.
As you can imagine, with the security guard gone, no key, and two unhappy kids in need of an afternoon nap, the future didn’t look to rosy. Trying not to panic, my friend and I considered our options: 1.) wait for the guard to return, 2.) hope that some key-carrying park member shows up 3.) call the fire department 4.) scream at the top of our lungs until someone rescued us, or 5.) climb the fence.
Both of us being “laptop naptime mamas,” who need naptime like frozen yogurt needs chocolate sprinkles, were definitely not up for hanging around in the park wasting precious naptime minutes. However, neither of us had a cell phone, so that ruled out the fire department. And screaming, quite frankly, has never been my forte. I’m too British to make all that kind of fuss.
So we plumped for scaling the fence.
Luckily, two construction workers eating lunch nearby saw my friend, with her legs dangling each side of the six-foot high fence, and rushed over to help. What followed was a not-so-elegant dance which involved hoisting two confused, 40lb three-year-olds up into the air and over the fence. Followed by my friend’s super light MacLaren stroller and my jogging stroller – which I’d always thought was so practical and nimble in the city, until the moment I had to lift it above my head and over a high, rusting fence. Getting myself over proved to be a lot easier, although I was thankful not be wearing my favorite skirt from Brooklyn Industries and a pair of “I Heart Construction Workers” panties.
I’m beginning to wonder if there are menacing forces at work in this seemingly idyllic keypark. Although, I have to admit, something good did emerge from our fence-traversing escapades…The kids stopped sniveling.
