Mr. Pickle


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Adolescence, Celebrations, Daughters, Happiness, Humor, Kindness, Playing | Posted on 08-08-2016

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I am a winner!

Actually, my daughter is the winner. She won a Mr. Pickle. At the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, she played skee ball with such accuracy that the dolphin leapt across the board into first place.

My daughter could be an Olympic skee baller.

She selected a Mr. Pickle as her prize and gifted him to me without prompting. OK, maybe a little. I could not resist his greenness, his glasses, his mustache, and his little shoes. And the fact that he was shaped like a…giggle…pickle. I gleefully accepted, squealing Thank You!

Mr. Pickle was promptly secured with a seatbelt in the back seat, as he quickly became the newest member of the family.

With a daughter like mine, I too, am a winner.

Mr. Pickles!

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I won a Mr. Pickle!

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The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the Monkey Bars


Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Childhood, Children, Confidence, Playing | Posted on 04-09-2012

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The little boy pulled away from the crowd of children. The other kids were romping around the playground, chasing, skipping, playing tag. Laughing loudly, hollering.

The little boy was humming, smiling, quietly playing on his own. He balanced on the beam, climbed the play structure, did spins on the bars.

  • “Mom, look what I can do!”
  • His mother would look up from her book, “Oooh, cool! Great job, honey!”

The exchange of words and support made him smile. He continued to hum and meander.

The other eight children were tearing through the park: a colorful, loud mass.

The little boy climbed silently, slid peacefully, smiling and humming.

The kids invited him to join in. He didn’t want to. He knew them; they see each other every week at their older sisters’ soccer practice.

No. He was content to play on his own. To have his own space. To do what he wanted.

He sprawled out at the bottom of the slide and gazed up at the clouds.

The little boy’s mother sat alone on the park bench, separate from the cluster of soccer Moms who were huddled on the sidelines watching the girls practice. The mother was enjoying the late afternoon sunshine, with her book How the GarcĂ­a Girls Lost Their Accents, looking up to smile and acknowledge her son. She read; she tweeted on her phone. She was peaceful and quiet. She, too, gazed up at the clouds.

She was content to read and tweet on her own. To have her own space. To do what she wanted.

After all, the apple doesn’t fall far from the monkey bars.

If you didn’t catch the little boy’s mother on the park bench, you can catch her on Twitter here: @PeskyPippi.