“Duck park, mommy!”
Yes, yes, yet again last weekend we found ourselves at Douglas Park, where the rich, the homeless, and a couple of mucky ponds full of ducks all co-exist in perfect harmony on any given day. We were armed with a bag full of wheat bread slices that were about to rot in the back of our fridge. We wanted the ducks to surround us and give Kieran something to laugh at and chase around. Rice was off playing paintball wargames with other male co-workers, so the boy and I had most of the day to ourselves. I got to take him with my everywhere, make all the parenting decisions, and take my eye off him for just a minute and have him scare the shit out of me—and I had to accept all the responsibility. So, after his afternoon nap, off to the Duck Park we went.
There’s a large pond in the center of this park, surrounded by large rock formations, and leafy plants I’ll never know the names of. The edge of this pond facing Wilshire Blvd is lined by a wooden deck-like walkway, where, according to the sign, you can fly fish between certain times of day, but it’s too damaged to make out. That’s where we chose our plan of attack. Or maybe it was more like my choice of where to sit, where I could be far away from the other annoying parents having parties with their annoying children.
The more bread we pulled, aimed and threw at the ducks, the more they came, until we were surrounded, and not only by ducks, but pigeons too. Kieran laughed and had a great time asking for more bread to feed his new friends, and then would chase them off, leaving me to use my bread to get them back again. While I sat and he ran, I actually had a few ducks get close enough to me that I could touch their feathers. I felt a strange sense of pride, I mean, I got a squirrel to take food from out of my hands recently. I was like a Disney Princess, friend to all the animals, though it was my child that sent them squawking into the air for dear life.
Kieran, one hand full of bread, the other holding his Spongebob sippy cup, came close to the edge of the pond, and landed a bit over the wooden lip of the deck. I had my eye on him, and the usual quick fear of him falling came to mind, but he’s run to the edges of this pond so many times, and each time Rice and I have to yell for him to stay back or be careful so I kept my mouth shut this time. But, faster than light itself, yet somehow almost in slow motion, right before my very eyes, Kieran stumbles, falls head over feet, and splashes into the pond. It’s like I sat there and totally watched it happen, I could have pointed and laughed, I could have screamed and reached out and saved him, but it was fast enough that it didn’t quite register to my brain until he was thrashing around under the water. I got to my feet, saw him struggling, reached down and yanked my mucky, soggy mess of a 2 year old out onto the deck.
I swear that pond is only a few feet deep, but of course, Kieran had to land on his back, face underwater. And this is the most vile, disgusting looking water that had a dead duck in it a few weekends ago.
I knew the couple with their baby to the right of us had to be staring, and anyone off to the left must be either laughing or glaring at me as if I was some awful, neglectful parent. He was screaming, trying his damnedest to hug me, when I didn’t have a towel, a blanket or any extra clothes on me, and I didn’t want to get wet. How selfish I am, how could I have even had a thought like that when my poor child was terrified! I did my best to strip the wet shirt off him, getting it caught on his head for a second, and leaving him screaming louder once it came off. It was then that I scooped him up into a big comforting hug and made my way as fast as I could without looking at anyone I might encounter along the way. I kept a huge grin on my face the entire path back to the car while whispering soothing words like “It’s ok, Kieran, it’s ok” (yeah, I’m original). Hallelujah, the car had 1) a huge warm blanket, 2) an extra pair of shorts and 3) a long sleeve shirt. The clothing gods had smiled down on me that day, I tell ya.
Once home, we bathed, we got warmed up, and sat down to Go! Diego Go! with a nice juice box. Kieran doesn’t much want to put his face under water in the bath tub anymore, and now says things like “No under duck! No duck water!”
And though I first felt like the worst parent in the world, I have to give myself some props. I handled a Kieran emergency with more calm than I ever knew I had. For a split second I remember thinking don’t lose control of yourself and freak in front of all those parents. I rescued my my child, calmed him, got him to the car, and now I’m a hero!
But, let’s see how I deal with broken bones. Geez. Boys.
Oh, and Rice is leaving me alone with Kieran yet again this weekend.
(the spongebob cup is still floating around at the park, by the way)
connect wasn’t the best of plans, throw in my hormones, claustrophobia and waiting and hour in line just to get some overpriced shit zoo food and I was one miserable missy. Our other friends with their toddler son Luka, showed up and we decided to let the 2 year olds run the show. I think once they decided to start playing together, and not fight over eachother’s hats, they were having a good time. Luka was Bob the Builder, and Kieran was a pirate. Earlier that morning, though, he took one look in the mirror, grabbed his hat and said “cowboy?”
sliding off, falling to the ground, laughing hysterically, and starting all over again. This is when parenting is cool. If you have cats and you can just sit and watch those little buggers do stupid stuff for hours, this is pretty much the same thing.
