It's pouring rain, and visibility on the road is poor. I focus intently as I drive, with two excited kids in the back seat, heading to a new indoor playground we've never visited before.
“Is it even bigger there?” “Yes, much bigger,” I reply. The boys cheer enthusiastically.
Of course, no parking spots are available right by the entrance on this rainy weekend—what was I thinking suggesting this outing? Indoor playgrounds are always packed. "Time for a shower," I joke. The boys ignore me and splash into a massive puddle. I watch, trying not to fret over the mud on my little one's new Timberlands.
Inside, it's dry but deafeningly loud. Once we claim a table, the boys vanish into the chaos. They're gone for now.
"Tea?" asks my best friend's mom.
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"Mommy, mama…" Little Man rushes over, flushed and beaming. He's ditched his sweater and socks—thankfully bringing them this time.
'Do you want to come with me in those helicopters?'
I glance at my tea, barely touched. Sigh. “Is that necessary?” “Yeah!” he yells. I follow him, looking back at his mom. "Just enjoy—you'll be fine," she laughs.
We climb the stairs. The sign warns: children under five need supervision. No escaping now.
We squeeze into a tiny helicopter, and I realize we must pedal to move along the rails. Perfect—just my day. I'm pedaling furiously in this cramped space, barely advancing. My back aches, knees jammed to my chest, sweat pouring... but Little Man loves it.
"Mom, fun, right?" "Fantastic," I manage.
Mom is terrified. Heights and I don't mix. Sweat slicks my palms as we dangle meters above the ground. At each turn—pedaling harder while he barely helps—I hear creaks. I avoid looking down.
The exit station looms. My heart races double-time; I crave solid ground.
"Woohoo!"
His friend's mom snaps photos below. My panicked face won't be Instagram gold.
"Mommy, we can stay and go again." "Honey, other kids are waiting for their turn." Again? My stomach flips. "Let's get ice cream." My legs wobble.
“Did you have fun today?” Little Man nods happily. "Super fun. You too, mama?" "Super fun." He needs to think Mom's tough for years to come.
“Sleep well, honey.” I kiss him, dim the light, and head to the laundry. “Mamaaaaaaaa!” he screams suddenly. I rush back. “What is it?” “I'm scared alone in bed.”
“I'm right here, honey.” “Everyone gets scared sometimes,” he says wisely. I nod, sitting on his bed.
“Even you, Mama.” “No, not mamas.” “Yes you were! A total scaredy-cat in the helicopter."
A week later, a CJIB envelope arrives. I expect it's for my husband, but my name's on it. I rip it open: thirty-three euros. The date matches the ride. Mom's fear turns to fury.
-x-
Ievy
