The Kid and I went to Onondaga Lake Park yesterday so that she could tool around on the rather large playground that was build about 8 or 9 years ago. It’s quite a nice space that caters to a wide variety of ages and abilities (it’s called a “boundless playground” in that every child can have fun on it, regardless of whatever limitation they may have).
These are particularly fun spaces for people watching, but more so for people listening. Our trips there are very spur of the moment, driven by a desire to keep The Kid occupied with something fun. Others plan their trip with friends. In following my daughter around the space, I heard one woman tell her friend all about her pregnancy sex, while her friend divulged how they could only conceive if she was in a certain position. There was the single father chatting up the single mother, as if the play date for their children was a chance for them to meet (it looked like what happens when two dogs meet for the first time and have to sniff each other). It was quite a thing.
There were also:
- 3 Laylas, including my own
- 2 Kaylas
- 2 Jaylas
- and, I think, a Nayla
I cannot imagine a scenario where little Nayla doesn’t get a lot of shit for her name during her teen-aged years. Also, there was quite a bit of comedy every time a parent said, “Layla, NO!” and three kids snapped their heads around.
There will be no grocery list next week, as I will be in New York City for four days. This will be a very Manhattan-centric weekend revolving around food. The reservations are all set, some visits (Umami Burger at Brookfield Place, Blue Bottle Coffee on The High Line, Gotham West, Chelsea Market, Momofuku Milk Bar and Katz’s Delicatessen) have already been worked into the schedule. The only thing we haven’t done is figure out how to hit Big Gay Ice Cream, as it is really out of our way. But, not unlike all of the -Ayla names from the park, that’s really a first-world problem.