We live in a time of summer camps, daycare, and planners full to the brim with graduation and birthday parties. Childhood has become so organized, filling the days with enrichment and schedules that make it possible for both parents to work full time. An unfortunate necessity that is distracting us from what is truly important in my opinion. The in-between. The moments that don’t require RSVPs or reminders.
Like a Tuesday morning at the playground.
But not just any playground.
This one.
This little patch of color, tucked into the back of the subdivision, is the last of its kind. Every single other one has been updated- modernized and mulched with rubber or wood chips. As a mom, years ago I was thrilled to see the sand go and be replaced with something that didn’t track through my entire house like we’d been at the beach all day, every day. What a relief!
I’ve had the pleasure of raising my kids in the same neighborhood for nearly fifteen years. When I had another child, ten years apart, all the things I got to do with my first set of kiddos made me feel like a grandma with this one. We had named every park in the neighborhood by it’s overall base color- but the blue park turned green while they were growing up and I didn’t even know about it. We walked to the elementary school across the street and that was all new too. All of the sudden I realized I don’t have any pictures of my kids at their favorite yellow park- the one that was closest to our first home before we moved to the front of the subdivision.
The yellow park drove me nuts for years with all the messy sand, hot metal and bee’s that would make nests in the cracking red wood. It was home base for those kids all summer though. Tag, hide and seek, burying things in the sand, building with the sand and sometimes chasing each other around throwing sand- which always got them in trouble. They weren’t even allowed over there unless I knew for sure I would have time to give them bath’s if they ended up too gross.
My teenagers played here.
This was their childhood playground- back when I was younger and so much busier than I admitted to myself.
I didn’t take these pictures with them. I didn’t think to preserve their teamwork and competition, hair stuck to their cheeks after running through the summer heat. Playing in the sand barefoot, kicking off shoes and running into it like it would lead to the ocean.
I assumed these parks would always be here. And I assumed these kids would always be small.
Back then, I was single-parenting and working full-time with a deep, unshakable responsibility to give them structure, stability, and safety. But the little details- the ones we soaked up in the experiences- live mostly in my memory now.
So to watch her, my youngest, play here? To see her climb the same ladder, slide the same yellow slide, bury her toes in the same sand?
It feels like getting the second chance I didn’t know I needed.
These photos aren’t just about her childhood. They’re about ours. Hers, mine, and the siblings who came before. They’re proof that time moves forward, yes- but sometimes, it also folds in on itself, letting you relive something familiar from an entirely new point of view.
I’m so grateful she gets to play here.
And maybe I am a bit more sentimental because my oldest will be graduating this year and my youngest is beginning first grade, but there’s a different kind of richness in slowing down- one that prioritizes presence over perfection. I believe the small moments matter.
Because maybe the most meaningful memories aren’t the big milestone ones, but the ones we circle back to in quiet moments. The ones we didn’t even know were sacred until we saw them again- years later, through the eyes of someone smaller.
Forever learning and growing. I hope you are all doing the same.
hugs and love,
Cristina
 
est. 2012