One of mom's favorite shortcuts across upper NW DC involves driving down the winding Tilden Road through Rock Creek Park. And every time we take it, mom points out Peirce Mill to us. It's open only on the weekends and we frequently use the weekends for more involved, longer adventures. But mom and dad are gearing up for a race and had a long training run last Saturday. So by Sunday morning, neither was in much of a mood for a big trip. And there is a good sized playing field right next to the mill, so mom figured they could post up and just let us play a bit, too.
The mill was really disappointing. Actually, the mill itself was super cool. The park ranger was really disappointing. Maybe she just didn't want to deal with small kids or a family of four, but getting information from her was like prying a yogurt from my hand. Many of the things were labeled and she did give us a little info (showed us a bag of corn and what it looks like after it's milled), but she clearly wanted to be left alone to talk on her cell phone. We toured the mill for a bit until some kind of alarm started going off. Mom doesn't have direct proof, but usually when that happens, it's because Cami or I have done something. And the best thing to do is to hightail it out of wherever we are. So we did.
And then we tried to take a walk through Rock Creek Park for a bit. But that portion of the path was mobbed by runners and bikers who were MOVING and not interested in moving for us. So we gave up on that, too. On to the playing field then. There was a period of time where we played "spin around four times, run to that tree, and kick the ball back." And that was fun (especially for mom and dad who were directing, but not actively participating in that game). But then we wanted to wrestle, which always starts out fine. But, inevitably, someone ends up crying. Oh well, can't win 'em all.