If you arrive at Donaldson Park after 5:20 PM, there are no children or parents to be found except the kids at t-ball practice. I had noticed that every mom on the playground this week had a 5 minute call around a quarter after five, but I'd just assumed that if we hung around another group of kids would show. Nope. We spend a couple minutes excited that we didn't have to wait for the big girl swing or the twisty and tunnel slides, but the novelty wore off quickly and we headed home to try out the new scented bubbles we bought at Target.
Since those days back in the blue room at Battery Park City Day Nursery, any time my daughter passes gas, she claims "There's an alligator in my butt". Droll, really. The first dozen or so times even. After a year and a half of "tushie music", it's getting a little old.
Anyway, it turns out the exact amount of time a parent can discuss how an alligator (albeit a very tiny one) might find its way into a small child's bowel is approximately 35 seconds. Then, the parent in question starts to feel pretty uncomfortable, particularly when the child in this scenerio asks, "But what about the alligator's prickles?" Prickles?! Ouch.