A new park opened nearby this week. We've been there every day since it opened. Every day.

It's actually a wicked cool park. Lots of open space for frisbee or running. Clean restrooms. Picnic tables in the sun. Picnic tables in the shade. A pavillion with more picnic tables. Water fountain. Climbing rock-like statue-like structure. Tennis and basketball courts. Trails crossing a little bridge.

A massive playground. One teeter-totter. One merry-go-round. One crazy bucket thing that spins like teacups on a slant. 2 baby swings. 2 big kid swings. A wobble platform. A playground for the under-two set. A playground for everyone else.

A playground with a 10-foot-tall slide. A metal slide. A fast, tall, metal slide.

There is no ladder or staircase to get to this slide. You must climb the spider-web/rope ladder thingie, climb some slanty/twisty metal bars that are too far away from each other to really be called a metal ladder, or climb up a vertical climbing wall. That's it. You have to really want that slide. And you have to be tall enough and nimble enough to get it.

Well, my boy didn't prove so nimble today. I had my back to him (of course) since he had already navigated all the twists and turns and slid down the slide a dozen times or more. He had even figured out how to place his feet when he came off the slide so he didn't land on his butt (like he did the first day we went to the park). He had it nailed.

I thought. So, while my back is turned (of course), I hear a solid "whumpf" followed almost immediately by Ben's distinctive fire-engine wail. Seriously. My friends have in fact confused fire engines with my son's cry. It is loud. It starts low and rises high. It starts soft and rises louder and LOUDER.

I turn around and Ben is pushing himself up to a sitting position. He's holding his hear. He's covered, COVERED, in bark chips. I run and pick him up, glance fast and don't see any blood, rush over to the picnic tables so I can look more closely. Well, he won't let me look because then he'd have to pull away from me. I ask one of my friends to look at his ear when a lovely woman walks over and announces she's a pediatrician. Would I like her to take a look at my son?

Of COURSE! I held him while she did a quick poke and prod and decided he was mostly scared. She gave me some things to look for and volunteered to stay at the park just a little while longer in case anything showed up so she could help us out.

Whew. Ben recovered quickly after that. He's upstairs napping now, and no, I don't have to keep waking him up. Some random pediatrician said so.

Altho, she may not be so random. Four of us at the park think we've seen her at our pediatrician's office so now I'll have to see whether she does work there so I can drop off a thank you note!

All parks with 10-foot-tall slides whould come with a wandering pediatrician.

Ben is a boy.

Sure, that seems obvious but until about six months ago Ben was pretty much gender neutral with some rather feminine qualities. As evidenced by his need to have his finger- and toe-nails painted. (Currently, his fingers are orange and his toes are blue.) And his appalling habit of telling other kids when they have cute or pretty or cool shirts. And then telling his friends where he got his shirts.

 

But lately Ben's started turning into a boy. He wants to play Kill. He wants to shoot people. He turns anything and everything into a gun. He wants to play Lego Starwars on the X-box because he gets to shoot Lego badguys who fall apart into their component pieces when they "die." He walks around his Viva Pinata gardens and whacks all his pinatas with a shovel. He is wildly competitive and gets angry whenever anyone gets in front of him. He wants to play Good Guys and Bad Guys.

 

I have no idea what to do with him anymore.

 

Boys.

I'm brushing my teeth. Standing at the sink, reading something, wet hair.

Ben walks in. Piles all his toy tools on the sink. Announces, "I have a new game! When you're done brushing your teeth we should play 'Kill'!"

I say, ??

I can't even figure out what to say so I finally sputter, "I don't want to play Kill? That's, that's just mean!"

Ben: But we'll only kill bad guys!

Mama: No! We don't kill! Anybody.

Ben: But it's just bad guys!

Mama: No (finally gathering my wits)! We don't kill anybody. We don't even kill bad guys (conveniently forgetting the death penalty for simplicity's sake). We send bad guys to jail so they can think about what they did and learn how to be good guys!

Ben: OK. Then let's play Build!

 

I am so not ready for boys...