It’s that time of year again, the time when hundred of thousands of parents across the nation will shell out their life savings for a backyard playset. I know. I was one of them. I don’t know what came over me – pure, unbridled optimism; utter delusion; dementia – but there was a point not too long ago where I just had to have a backyard playset for the kids. In my heart I harbored hope that this was the answer to all my problems. My problems being my kids permanently attached to my body like Siamese twins – or in this case Siamese triplets with one of bunch approximately 35 years older.
I needed something with bells and whistles (but not too many bells and whistles because that’s expensive) to captivate their attention outside in the glorious sunshine and fresh air where kids have played naturally for millennia. Instead of kicking them out of the house and locking the door like I should have, I plunked down good money on a playset. This is the tale of that playset, and my words of caution to you. But you’re gonna have to go over on Scary Mommy today. Well, actually, it was over there yesterday, but I forgot. Can you believe that? I completely and totally forgot. I had it marked on the calendar and everything. I had it marked on the calendar, looked several times this week at that day on the calendar, which also had several other notes and appointments marked on it, and forgot. So, I’m telling you now. But that’s OK because it doesn’t go stale. If you haven’t read it yet, go do yourself a favor and read it. It’ll save you a couple thousand dollars.
Epilog: When we sold our home a few years ago, the new owners had two small boys. They asked if we were going to leave the playset. I nodded and felt relief. I thought, at least someone will get some use out of it.
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