Whenever we go to a park (everyday) or step into our backyard (all. day. long.), I cross my fingers no one wants to swing.
Because, obviously, I hate fun.
Of all the playground equipment and activities, no other piece demands so much parental effort while asking so little of the child. What do they get? A gentle breeze and the lilting, relaxing feeling of gliding through the air.
What do I get?
Zero breeze, sun always in my eyes, the monotony of pushing someone "higher!"
It's work. And, frankly, I haven't brought them to the park so I can work.
I've brought them so I can sit in the shade and scroll through Facebook.
They're cute, though. That's supposed to make up for everything, I guess.
The best case scenario, however, does sometimes arise: One will take an interest in pushing the other, doing the work on my behalf.
So I can sit in the shade and take pics to post on Facebook.
I wish playgrounds would just yank all their swings out so it wasn't an option. In which case, I'd be able to just shrug with upturned hands, and sigh disappointedly with them: "Sorry guys. Blame the playground overlords. Not me."
Inwardly, my heart would smile.