Just Some Pathetic Squeaks From My Hamster Cage

Even introverts need to go out into the world every once in a while. I am no exception. To say that I am feeling frustrated and isolated lately would be an understatement.

It's not that I haven't tried to meet people or find activities in which to get my kids and/or me involved. It's that either A) there is very little in this area that is not church-related, B) I'm just very bad at finding the stuff, or C) the activities are here but are all sort of like "easter eggs" on DVD's -- they're not on the main menu and instead are available only if you happen to stumble upon them or if you talk to someone who is in the know. I am not in the know, and I know nobody in the know.

Today I took both of my children to the library by myself. It was the first time I'd tried it alone at this particular library, which does not have parking very close by. The kids were really well-behaved. Even so, by the end of the trip -- which involved the way-too-complicated process of getting a new library card, asking a very surly librarian (surly librarians are hard to find, but I found one) for help in finding a potty-training video, keeping my children from pulling every video off the shelf while said surly librarian finally tracked down the one I was looking for, accidentally setting off the library I'm-stealing-a-book alarm, getting in the way of an angry man on his cellphone, and navigating crosswalks with two small children and an armful of books -- I was wet with sweat. Still, it was encouraging to know it could be done since I'm thinking of weekly storytime. And the change of scenery was worth it.

As soon as we got back home, the kids and I were itching to get out again. So, in frustration because it is too steamy and wet and stormy to play either in our yard or at the park, and in total desperation for something to do where other people are, I planned something new for us: McDonald's.

We went to the McDonald's with the indoor playground. Will I ever do this again by myself? It is doubtful. I'm not worried so much about the food -- the kids were too preoccupied with the play equipment to eat much of anything -- as I am about the play equipment.

Here's how it went. My son, after having begged to get on the play equipment, was afraid to climb on anything. My daughter, on the other hand, was attempting acrobatic feats of which even the members of Circ du Soleil are fearful. I was pulling her down while encouraging my son to climb up. Finally, he climbed up the series of platforms to the beginning of the tunnel. Which is way up high. And very long and curvy. And twisty and maze-like. And opaque. After a few moments of having him out of my sight, I heard echoing through the tunnels, "MOMMY! HELP! MOMMY! GET ME DOWN! MOMMY!"

I looked overhead at the layers of twisting hamster tubing, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face in one of the small windows. Nothing. But the cries continued, "MOMMY! HELP! COME GET ME, MOMMY! I NEED YOU!"

I imagined his being stuck in the tube, unable to move, or worse yet, being held down by a bigger kid. I could feel my blood pressure rise. "It's okay, sweetie," I called, sounding very calm, "just turn around and come back." But all the while I was trying to think what I would tell my husband if I lost the kid in there. What if he never came out? What if he eventually stopped crying and I had no way to know if he was alive or dead? Surely this view, gazing up at a twisting intestine-like child trap, hearing a cacophony of shrieks smattered with the familiar cries of my child, is one of the lower circles of hell about which Dante wrote, I thought.

After several minutes, my son appeared above me at one of the openings of the tunnel. I called for him to come on out. "MOMMY! COME GET ME!" he replied and disappeared into the tunnel again.

The signs at the playground say parents are encouraged to play. There is no posted weight limit. Still, I worried. And even if it COULD hold me, there was the business of my daughter, with whom I am not coordinated enough to climb, and who is too small to be left alone. I began to scan the room for other adults who looked trustworthy. I was zeroing in on a couple possibilities, remembering the horrible dream I had last night about my daughter's falling and breaking her arm, wondering if it was an omen that she would be abducted in a McDonald's Playland, when lo and behold, who should appear at the bottom of the slide, but my son.

There he was with tear-stained cheeks and snot-covered upper lip, but otherwise intact. "You made it!" I cried.

"I want to do it again!" he shouted as he took off for the beginning of the tunnel.

His second adventure was a repeat of the first, except this time he went higher and cried louder. Just as before, when he emerged from the slide, he wanted to go again.

I, however, had had all I could take. I managed to get both kids and their Happy Meal toys out to the car. We made it home and into the house with both kids and one Happy Meal toy. Not such bad stats, really.

I'm telling you, I have to get out more. Really. I'm not kidding. Otherwise one day my husband is going to get a call from the McDonald's manager.

"Hello, sir, I'm calling from McDonald's. The one with the Playland."

"What? She took the kids there AGAIN? Are they okay?"

"Your kids are fine. They're romping in the ball pit right now. It's your wife I'm calling about. It seems she's in a fetal position in a secluded corner of the Playland hamster tubing."

"Is she hurt?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir. We have this happen from time to time. But you're going to need to find a way to get her out because several of the children are becoming upset; she's blocking their way to the slide."