While I was visiting my folks in Ohio, I took the kids to see my old grade school. It doesn't happen to be a school anymore, mind you, seeing as eighteen gazillion years have gone by since I was a kid. Fortunately, it still has most of the same (though now rusty, and likely unsafe, which is a code word for "fun") playground equipment that was around way back when.
Late this summer, Campers learned how to make his way across the monkey bars, and he got to show me his new skill at My Old Playground Where I Learned The Same Exact Thing. Bliss!
And here's the Zig swinging on my swingset, probably wondering if he'd go so high he'd fling himself around the top bar:
The kids liked the tornado slide, I mean, WHO WOULDN'T, but I let Little Miss Spazzy Pants climb the Rather Unsafe Ladder just once. Once. My blood pressure couldn't take any more than that.
While we were out at the "school," my Dad took the kids on a tour of the fire station, which used to be the bus barn, for those looking for a little regional history. I realize that might be none of you, but still. Did I mention my school is no longer a school and that I am old with a side of old? Why yes, I believe I did. Anyhoo, Zig tried on Grandpa's fire helmet while we were taking a tour the "school." Good times.
