I'm watching my son play at an indoor playground.
Watching isn't quite accurate. It's more like catching glimpses of him every few minutes as he tears through the playground, running and jumping and having the time of his life.
I sit here knitting and wondering what this playground looks like to him. Is it a jungle or a maze? Is it an abandoned warehouse? Is he in a video game, and this is one of the challenging levels?
I watch other kids running through, laughing and screaming at each other, at nothing, at everything. One small boy wanders by me, looking around. I think he's looking for his parent - oh, he found someone. All good.
Knitting and catching brief glimpses of my son. It's quite loud in here. There's a snowstorm outside.
He comes to the table for a drink. He's gone again already, back into the structure that I wish I had the mobility and imagination to tackle again.
I hear the rallying cry of 'PIZZA' and a small group of children emerges from the depths and stampedes towards one of the party rooms.
I watch other parents and overhear pieces of conversation. "The twins hate bedtime. By the time they're down, it's time for me to go to bed." "My daughter's enrolled in soccer before and I think we'll try it again this year." "Have you tried different diapers for your newest?" "Hey, don't hit other kids!"
Mayhem. But winter is a hard time to get the exercise in, so we do what we have to for the littles. We stay for over an hour and my son isn't even tired when we leave. But he's had fun.