If you live in Miami with kids, you already know: the park isn’t just a place, it’s survival. Parks are where kids run until they’re red in the face, where snacks disappear in record time, and where I pretend I don’t see Rex scrolling his phone while “keeping an eye” on the boys.
We’ve tried a lot of playgrounds around here, but three keep pulling us back. Each one has its own magic, its own chaos, and its own way of sending me home sweaty, tired, and oddly grateful.
Tropical Park
This one feels like a whole theme park without the ticket price. Nico bolts straight for the giant slides like he’s training for the Olympics, while Anthony digs into the sand with the intensity of a construction foreman. I spend half the time sprinting after them and the other half trying to convince Rex to stop buying snacks from the vendors. (Do we really need three snow cones, Rex? Really?) But I love love love how big and open it is, how you can walk around the lake if you actually manage to wrangle your children into walking shoes instead of flip-flops.
Amelia Earhart Park
Okay, so yes—it’s a bit of a drive from Doral, but this place is like Disney World’s cooler cousin. There are bikes, a splash pad, and that massive playground where kids disappear and you suddenly realize you don’t know where anyone is. Cue the panic. But the boys always end up together somehow, sweaty and smiling, plotting which slide they’ll conquer next. I’ve definitely said “five more minutes” here and then stayed another hour because dragging them away is basically a hostage negotiation. The bonus? There’s enough shade that I don’t feel like I’m roasting alive while sipping my cafecito.
Doral Central Park
Our home turf. Nothing fancy, nothing wild, but it’s ours. Close enough to pop in after school when they need to burn off energy or I need to breathe fresh air that doesn’t smell like chicken nuggets. Nico races the other kids like it’s a track meet, Anthony bosses me around about which bench I’m “supposed” to sit on, and Rex somehow ends up chatting with random dads about soccer. There’s something about this park that just feels easy. Like, yes, the slide is a little too hot in the summer sun and yes, I always forget bug spray, but it’s where the everyday memories are made.
And you know what? These parks aren’t perfect. They’re full of sticky hands, scraped knees, and that one kid (always!) who brings a Nerf gun and terrorizes the playground. But these are the places my boys will look back on, the backdrop of their childhood summers, the smell of grass and sunscreen and melted popsicles.
Sometimes I think about all the energy it takes—packing water bottles, remembering snacks, chasing kids who sprint like tiny criminals. But then I see Nico helping Anthony climb up the slide (even though I told him ten times “slides are for down, not up”), and I can’t help smiling. Parks are where the chaos feels good. Messy, loud, and somehow exactly what we all needed.
So yeah, these three? They’re our spots. The ones where I can laugh, complain, sweat, snack, and still leave with that weird mom feeling that it was all worth it. Even if my car is now 60% Goldfish crumbs and grass.