I work my toes into my shoes and check my clothes once again to make sure I actually am wearing something. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been able to dress so lightly and I’m sure I must be doing something wrong. But it’s all there: shirt, shorts, shoes.

I take the stroller off the wall, heft it to the couch, where it rests while I fill the water bottle, grab some crackers, make sure we still have the spare diaper in the basket.

The boys are getting shoes on, finding jackets, using the restroom. And Micah is getting changed into his clothes as well. It’s nearly 70 degrees out, sunny, perfect. The perfect day to take a break before dinner, to take a family run to the park, to watch the boys become reacquainted with the playground — along with about 300 other Brooklyn children and their adults.

Finally, we’re ready. Out the door. Buckled into the stroller, wheels rolling, legs moving. Squish is sitting up, arms supporting him so he can look straight up into the sky. Looking for clouds? He won’t find any. But no, he’s on the lookout for squirrels. He wants to catch one so he can pet it.

Micah and I fall into an easy pace while Squish scans the trees and sky and ground. There’s no need for speed. A slower pace means more time to soak up the sun. But still, before we know it 2 1/2 miles have passed and we’re at the playground. We unleash the boys: “You have fifteen minutes to play,” we tell them, “enjoy it while you can.” And they do, and we do.

Twenty-five minutes later, they are back in the stroller. The squirrel, which was briefly forgotten, is back on Squish’s mind. We see one scamper along the wall next to the park. The boy is satisfied. He sits back and relaxes.

The sun is settling, sinking, relaxing as well.

Which is what we’ll do when we get home, too.

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