Confession time.

We are now swimming-lesson and gymnastics-class-free. And no “play dates” either. And we never go to the park. Or the public swimming pool. In short, we are child abusers who make our kids find their own fun right in their own backyard. That’s not a euphemism. I really do mean in their own backyard.

Our house is small and right up at the front of the lot. This means that our back yard is reasonably large. It is completely fenced and we’ve removed all giant, impaling stakes and try to keep the chainsaws out of reach.

Most afternoons, when Mike and Robbie aren’t obsessively getting down to some Lego-ing, they are out in the back. Sometimes I look back there and am amazed at what I see. For example, last December they started this great game.

We have one of those heavy-duty wheeled carts like you see in garden centers. They piled up all the outside toys on the back of it, and stuck a trike on the front. Robbie gets up on the trike and Mike pulls him around the yard.

What are they doing you say? Well of course Robbie is The Grinch and Mike is Max the dog. Dur.

They go all around the yard setting traps for the citizens of Whoville, and saying things like “heh heh heh No Christmas for you!” It is a laugh riot. Well, to me at least.

And that’s why I don’t feel bad that we don’t participate in many of the traditional social rituals for kids their age. Sure, we do birthday parties and events like that, but my kids spend a lot of time in our yard working their imaginations. And that is just the way I like it.