I'll hold them a little tighter tonight.

As is often the case, another blog has inspired the content of today's entry.


Monday the kids and I went to Vandergriff Park to meet up with a playgroup. Despite the weather being a touch on the chilly side at first, by the time we had crammed our cold fries and clammy McLunch down our gullets (let she whose hungry-past-reason children can allow her to drive past those Golden Arches without outcry cast the first stone), it was downright balmy. A more perfect day for a park outing there never was. Two busloads of Georgia kindergarteners thought the same. I'll admit it was crowded. Connor was a little disappointed that all the swings were occupied, even the toddler ones (how those leggy little monkeys got back out of them I'll never know. Big kids are extra bendy.), but it was a nice opportunity for a lesson in turn-taking, so he motored around the rest of the equipment, trying his best not to get trampled by the herds. Mia was Mia, just content to be observing, and there was so much to see! She just perched in her little wagon seat, craning her neck this way and that as they all buzzed by. After a few minutes I spotted a vacant baby swing, and we jetted for it. Success! We did the patented "tandem" maneuver, where I sit Connor in the front side of the swing, and then wedge Sissy behind him, facing the opposite direction (This "swing sharing" technique will very soon render itself obsolete--I don't remember it being such a tight squeeze the last time I put them in together...). Two blissful babies for an entire ten minutes until Connor decided he'd had enough. I let him out while I continued to push Miss Smiley Face. I'm a sucker for that gummy grin. A few more minutes and I noticed the little girl beside us had slowed her swing and was watching us shyly. She had a messy brown ponytail and adorable little wire-rimmed glasses. "Would you like to push her?" I asked. She nodded. I resisted the urge to resume control as she hoisted Mia a little higher than I would have liked. "Ooh, gently! She doesn't like to go too high," I told her. She pushed softly now. "I have a little baby brother," she said. "Oh really? Is he at home today or at daycare?" I smiled. "He's with another family," she replied. "We were taken away from my mommy."
Wow.
That hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to ask her what had happened, but I wasn't about to. I wanted to take her home with me and brush her hair and tuck her in. I realized the little girl who'd been watching my little girl so longingly probably wasn't simply hoping to push her swing. She was admiring the whole picture. Mother and child enjoying each other.

It was about that moment when one of the chaperones blew a whistle and the kindergarteners lined up to board their bus. I watched her blend in with the rest of them.