I took Gabriel to the park once we got home from work yesterday. He had a yoghurt pop which is basically frozen Go-gurt, but I don't buy the Go-gurt kind, I buy the hippie organic kind. They are Gabriel's favorite snack, and yesterday (per usual) he had me wrap a napkin around it so his hands didn't get cold. And then he finished it and was playing at the park, and I just had the napkin. Yesterday (more than usual) the playground was full of Old Parents.
Side note on Old Parents: You don't inherently gross me out if you're just older and a parent. That's fine. My mom was 39 when she had Daniel, my aunt had her kids at 36, 40 and 43, I'm friends with lots of people who are lots of different ages, who have kids, who don't have kids, I don't really care. However, in this town especially, there is this particular breed of parents, and just for the amount of money you have to have to be this kind of parent, they tend to be older. They have a ridiculous amount of name-brand Stuff and $800 strollers and the like, and they're super Up On Their High Horse about organic food, and "I only believe in the Waldorf way," and "I'm thinking of home-schooling," and "I plan on nursing Isabella until she starts kindergarden," and "we can't take darling Oliver to the park unless we can both come, because otherwise one of us might be missing out on some fun our kid is having." Anyways, those are the parents calling their four-year-old Baby Bear in a cooing falsetto, and worrying that their 6-year-old might actually be young enough to eat sand on purpose (of course because they worry about that shit, they will it into being and it's true, their old-ass kid DOES eat sand), and dressing their fourth-grade son in turquoise stretch pants (and the poor kid doesn't know any better, and of course he's home-schooled, so he just thinks that's what parents are like).
Back to my thought. Yesterday, at the playground part of the park, there were WAY to many Old Parents for me to deal, so I cajoled Gabey into taking a walk with me instead. He was pretty lukewarm about the whole thing until I found a blackberry bush. And luckily, I had my handy napkin from his yoghurt snack. I filled the napkin up with blackberries, and then spread it out on the grass. We were eating berries, and I was talking on the phone with Jules, who had a rather rough day yesterday. And we weren't wearing shoes because it feels good to be barefoot in the grass (although I have friends who would flip out about that, do you wear shoes to the beach, that's what I want to know), and I was making a daisy chain for Gabriel. And then there was this gopher poking his head out, so we were all berry stained and lying on our bellies watching the gopher, and not wearing shoes, and totally not paying attention.
Then, in a moment of clarity, I realized that I was in public. There I was, in scrubby dirty clothes, with no shoes on, and scrapes on my legs from bramble bushes, and berry stained hands, stalking a fucking gopher for my kid, while I decorate him with flowers. I was totally that Crazy Lady At The Park. Which I think is a harbinger of things to come.