outer reaches

My boys have stopped being interested in playgrounds. Other kids swing and slide and climb their little hearts out, understandably: the whole set-up is designed for extended play. But my two bruisers go down maybe one slide, take a few swings, climb a ladder, and then they're off. Their prime source of entertainment from then on is perusing the very outer borders of whatever play area we're in. Jetting down paths through woods if they can, climbing over fences and up hills of wood-chips, picking up bits of trash, pulling leaves off of trees. This is a source of frustration and fascination for me. In other settings it takes this form: a common thoughtful Seattle thing is to have, in a coffee shop, for instance, an area for kids to play. The same pattern holds there. If the play area is not gated closed, my boys dabble lightly and take off... behind the counter, under tables, over chairs, to the windows and doors. They talk to everyone that will get eye contact and to some who are trying to avoid it. And I am the scooping and herding mama, trying in vain to direct their attention back to the humble cache of toys and books, until I give up and leave. Whenever my husband sees this pattern in action, he sighs, "They're going to live on the other side of the world from us." And I sigh back, with a mixture of appreciation and resignation for these consummate explorers.