Breaking Up With Nachos

Yesterday, I took Thing 2 to the playland at our local rec center smack in the middle of the afternoon.  It’s because when I showed him a bottle of milk and his blanket at 1:30, he shook his head, “No, no, no.”  But then he drank the milk, because he’s greedy like that.  And he still insisted that the polar ice caps would have to melt completely before he laid in that crib and closed his eyes.

So, in an effort to avoid him entertaining himself while I sat in a catatonic state on the sofa (Read:  Picasso will paint, using blue!), we loaded ourselves into the Suburban, and we went for an adventure.

The adventure part happened when MaMaw here decided that it would be a fun idea to climb to the top of the playland with her baby and take him down the long slide.

That would be the long slide with two humps in the middle.

I’m trying to remember the last time I went down a slide, and all I’m coming up with is 1987.  I probably didn’t slide much then, either.  Big hair that has been shellacked with Aqua Net is very difficult to fix without starting over from scratch by re-showering.  Girls in 1987 had enough common sense to avoid all activities that might break a chunk out of the Aqua Net hold and require fixing.

The upward climb was relatively easy at first, but since the big slides are set up for… well… BIG kids, Thing 2 had a difficult time climbing.  His legs weren’t quite long enough to reach the next step.  This wasn’t a problem at all, because apparently I’ve got some alpaca DNA buried in my cells and soul, and I simply scooped him up and climbed to the very top with him.

I wanted oxygen at the three-fourths mark.

And then we went down the slide.  Actually, we went down the slides, as in PLURAL.  Thing 2 went in the yellow one, and I went in the red one, and we held hands since the slides are bosom buddies.  I wasn’t sure how the landing was going to be at the bottom, due to TRIAL RUN.

This turned out to be one of my wisest parenting moments of ever, because when you weigh less than 25 pounds, you will gain enough momentum on those slides to rocket you off the bottom, across the landing pad, and into the concrete wall twenty feet away.

The bumps in the slide were okay the first time, although my stomach sort of did a little flop or nine.

Don’t judge me.  We all have quirks, and mine is spelled MOTION SICKNESS.

When we’d completed our journey down, I looked at Thing 2 and was happy I’d given him this golden moment.  I was ready to do something else, like call it a day and go to Starbucks for refreshments.  He looked at me, pointed to the top of the slides, and did his baby sign language for PLEASE.

At the age of thirteen months, he knows how to work me.  I cannot resist the baby signing PLEASE!

The alpaca made the ascent again, carrying her twenty-three-and-a-half pound load.  If you don’t think twenty-three-point-five pounds is a lot, I would like to encourage you to strap it on and go climb something.  Make it a steep something (like the outside of the Empire State Building), and enclose it in safety mesh that smells overwhelmingly of dirty eight-year-old feet, so that you feel a bit claustrophobic while you’re at it.

We repeated the slide experience.  It takes approximately four hours to climb the playland with a baby monkey clinging to you and only three seconds to rocket down to the very bottom.

The bumps in the slide made me catch a tiny bit of air the second time.  Thing 2 caught air like an Olympic snowboarder, which cemented the fact that I’d made a good choice in holding his hand as we slid in tandem.

I won’t lie.  I was a bit queasy.  And by a bit queasy, I mean, “Whoa, Gladys.  MaMaw’s head is spinning just a titch.”

And then Thing 2 pointed up to the slides’ tops again and rubbed his little hand in circles on his chest as fast as he could.  PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!!

Baby sign language may be something I regret.

We went again.

And that’s when I texted Hubs and said, “Listen.  I’m in playland… in the baby section… sort of comatose here… laying on all the foam blocks and slowly dying from motion sickness because I caught some serious air on those slides.  I may  have to call a taxi to get home.”

And then I ended up with a nice headache and a nauseated gut for the rest of the day, so it was only appropriate that Hubs should bring home some take-out from a little Mexican restaurant in town for dinner.  I don’t cook when I have a hangnail; motion sickness and a headache are a dead ringer for escaping dinner duty.

Apparently, when you’ve had some issues with the slides, what you SHOULDN’T EAT is a batch of nachos with thick queso and extra guacamole.  It’s a very real possibility that Mexican food is completely dead to me from here on out.



Before I go tonight, here’s a snapshot of the boy, Cousin B, and their buddy Quinn at the golf course from Saturday afternoon.  Quinn’s darling mama took the shot for me, because I was sitting on Katie’s sofa, feeling empowered by my ability to overcome technical difficulties of a simulcast variety and furiously scribbling notes from Priscilla Shirer’s talk.  Oh.  And I was eating homemade coffee cake and slurping a VENTI chai from Starbucks.

(Thank you, Miss Arin!  You do know how I love a group shot of boys!)


I challenge you to find a more handsome batch of boys anywhere.

I also challenge you to ride the red playland slide without needing to lie down in the giant foam building blocks for twenty entire minutes.

Carry on and have a merry Tuesday.

1 thought on “Breaking Up With Nachos

  1. You absolutely crack me up! I’m literally laughing out loud and it’s not because Keith is rubbing my feet and it tickles. Oh yes, he’s rubbing my beach worn feet, but it doesn’t tickle in the least. No, in fact, you’re a crack up (and he’s a keeper).

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