Nothing that a Strawberry Smoothie and a Warm Bath Can’t Fix

Now that chilly fall weather has blown in, I, along with all other moms north of the Mason-Dixon line, have been scouting out indoor play places for the kids to burn off energy and have some fun. My friend suggested a nearby spot that I had never been to before.

Within a few minutes of arriving, the girls had decided that this new play place was pretty awesome.

Aside from my concern about my adventurous thirteen month old getting flattened from the other kids’ flying cannonball-style dives into the foam “pool”, (which I kept trying to keep her out of and she kept scampering back into…until I finally gave up) I actually had a moment to chat with my friend and contemplate buying a cup of coffee.

That moment ends abruptly when my friend spies a sight that no one wants to see at a play place. “Uh, I think that kid up on the slide is having an accident.”

And it was no small accident. Wow. A veritable waterfall of Number 1 was cascading straight down from the seam between a platform and the very top of a very tall twisty slide. It went on and on. This kid must have been holding it for the past week.

My friend and I both scan for our little ones. Her kids are on a different play structure. My thirteen month old is in the foam pool, oblivious. I snatch her up. My three year old…hmm, well, I can’t see her at the moment, but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere near the sudden downpour. And my four year old…is running toward me. Crying.

“Sweetie, are you okay? What’s wrong?” She seems befuddled by the question, and continues to sob. I reach out to hug her with my free arm. And discover that her back is wet. As is her waist-length blonde hair. Quite wet.

In an instant, I decide that freaking out won’t help the situation.

“Sweetheart, we are going to need to get our things and go home.”

She sobs harder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I reassure her. “It’s just …time to go.”

Her sobs are getting that hiccup sound that means she’s on the verge of really losing it.

“How about you can have the last strawberry smoothie when we get home?”

“Okay,” she squeaks out, brightening.

I hear an announcement go out over the speaker system for everyone to vacate the play area. I look up to see that the hazmat team has arrived and camped around the base of the slide. And all the parents are rapidly rounding up all of their little people and herding them toward the cafeteria.

It seems to take only about 10 seconds for the play structure to empty, a rainbow-colored ghost town with no signs of life. Well…except for the little girl way at the back, on a climbing platform about eight feet off the ground. A little girl with a pink shirt and dark jeans…and flyaway blonde curls…and flashing Paw Patrol sneakers as she circles the platform over and over. Oh, yes, my three year old.

I am now standing beneath her, my squirming thirteen month old in my arms. Her older sister is stuck. There is roping at one end of the platform, leading to the next platform down, but she is too scared to attempt it. I look up at her. She looks down at me.

“Sweetie, I’m not sure what to do.”

An employee rushes over. “I can get her down,” she assures me. “Come toward me, honey,” she coaxes.

“It’s all right,” I tell my daughter. “You can go to her. Go ahead.” This woman, fortunately, has that kind of face which somehow communicates to any age: “You can trust me.”

And clearly she also has plenty of experience dealing with these kinds of scenarios. She manages to get my daughter to maneuver within arm’s reach, and then lifts her up and, whew, back down to terra firma.

With my baby in tow (who also is not happy about her fun being cut short), I struggle to round up our shoes, jackets, hats and the diaper bag, and finally we are on our way home.

During the drive, I glance back at my sniffling four year old, and my older sister’s parenting words of wisdom come back to me. “Just remember, urine is sterile.” She’s a zoologist who works in research, and has three kids. I can trust that she knows what she’s talking about. I repeat it a few times to myself. I feel better.

I give my four year old the promised strawberry smoothie while I run her bath. The smoothie and the warm bath do wonders for her. When I wrap her in her princess towel, she is all smiles once again.

All’s well that ends well, I think to myself. Nothing that a smoothie and a warm bath can’t fix.