There are a lot of things my kids say that make me cringe. Things like, "What are those bumps on your chest called again?" or, "I think I'm going to throw up" (which does not, by the way, mean 'perhaps you should direct me to the nearest, most convenient spot to do so'. Rather, it means 'throw up is currently coming out of my mouth and onto the floor, my clothes, my shoes, your shoes, and somehow, thanks to physics, your hair')
Another would be: "Can we go to Kidsports?"
Kidsports is an indoor playground where you can bring your kids on a rainy/cold/snowy day so they can run around and let out some energy. Get some exercise. Blow off some steam. To those without children, it probably seems like a brilliant idea.
And, as you prepare for your first visit one rainy Saturday in late November, you think so, too.
Of course, so does every other parent of every other child between the ages of 3 and 12 within a 30 mile radius.
The problem with sticking 439 children into a playspace meant to contain 70 children, is that kids in this setting tend to get JUST A LITTLE FUCKING INSANE. Maybe, perhaps, just a little bit louder/crazier/lethal than they might otherwise.
And that loud/crazy/lethal shit multiplies faster than Gremlins in a hot tub.
Now, because you are a good American, you will have hit the local Dunkin' Donuts on your way and purchased yourself the largest coffee they are legally allowed to sell you, only to open the door to Kidsports and be accosted not only with the overpowering smell of feet, but a front desk attendant who tells you, "Ummm, sorry? No outside food or drink allowed? Ummmm? We sell coffee at the snack bar?"
That's right, you must buy their sucky coffee. Coffee that tastes like it was brewed, burnt, and reheated sometime during the Clinton Administration and that could, quite possibly, even contain ground-up bits of an old Clinton cigar.
It's really bad coffee.
Not to be outdone by the coffee, there is also the prerequisite shitty pizza. I'm pretty sure this is part of the business model: you must have x-number of bathrooms and sprinklers, require a minimum of 8,200 tickets for a 'prize' that was dipped in lead paint while being made in an asbestos factory by 10 year olds in a country 92% of high school seniors can't find on a map, and, oh yeah, you MUST follow our recipe for Shitty Pizza That Kids Will Eat Because They'll Eat Anything That You Call Pizza.
That's the legit name of the recipe.
So why in God's name would a grown, sane, stable woman ever chose to go to such a place?
Because my kids love that shitty pizza. And they come flying down the giant slide laughing so hard they can't catch their breath. And they jump in the bouncy house until they're ready to puke. They leave sweaty and happy.
And tired.
Translation? Easy bedtime.
Which makes it almost worth the really bad coffee.
Almost.
