Yesterday was the one-year, all-in, playgroup-palooza birthday celebration in honor of all the kids in Samson's playgroup. We went to a place called Rebounders, which despite sounding like a singles bar in Key West (or worse yet, a Jimmy Buffet song about the bar), was actually a little gym/tumbling/sing-a-long place. The woman in charge looked and sounded a little like Zelda from Pet Sematary. Which no one picked up on; consequently, I was the only one terrified by her rendition of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Skin-a-Ma-rink." Even so, it was pretty cool.
I don't know if you've ever watched nine one-year-olds "play together," but it is fascinating. For minutes on end, each kid operates in total oblivion to anyone around him or her. It's sort of like those contestant waiting lines during the American Idol auditions. But less gay.
Occasionally, however, someone makes contact, and it's on. I saw at least half a dozen spontaneous crawl races, and I can't even count how many little fingers poked little eyes, ears, and noses belonging to other little people. Good times.
It was fun to meet some of the other parents, and I really enjoy watching how Samson acts in a crowd. He isn't shy, but he has these moments where he just goes off on his own and sits and observes the other kids. It's funny and endearing, and I get to see a side of him we rarely see at home. Maybe he'll be his generation's David Halberstam.
Better yet, maybe he'll be the next Kwai Chang Caine. Starting tomorrow, I'm calling him grasshopper.
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