The Rescue

We ate dinner at Chickfila in relative peace.  The kids downed their nuggets in anticipation of playing on the playground, and when they were done they went skipping for the indoor climbing structure complete with covered twisty slide.

We cleaned off the table, gathered Brooks and his belongings and headed to the playground to watch them play and, hopefully, wear themselves flat out.  Upon entering the playground, though, we heard a primal scream that could only be one person:  Sara.  The Laws of Evolution dictated that she perfect this scream early on, between the need for daycare survival and being a middle child.

I looked up, and there she was at the very top of the structure, howling.  Knowing that primal scream = totally irrational, I tried to communicate with her sister.  Hallie informed us that Sara had climbed to the top and was now "freaking out" because she could not get down.

There were two ways down:  the covered twisty slide or back down the alternating levels that she had climbed.  To put it simply, Sara was not interested in either option.  She had convinced herself that she was not physically capable of going back down the stairs because they were slightly further apart than she would like, and at that precise moment she also had developed a crippling fear of the slide.  So, there she sat, paralyzed.

I couldn't just stand there and listen to my child scream, so I entered the tower of fear.  I got about 3 levels up and stopped, not yet realizing just how many levels remained between us.  I tried to tell Sara to come down to where I was and I would help her the rest of the way.  She continued sobbing, "I can't, Mommy!"  I told her that she could, in fact, and sent Hallie up to get her.  Hallie came back down empty-handed.  On my third or fourth attempt to reason with the unreasonable, I looked around.  It was kinda warm in here.  Warm and humid.  And smelling distinctly like feet, as the playground was a no-shoes zone.  My breath started getting short, and my mild claustrophobia kicked into to high gear.  I realized that I Must. Get. Out. Now.  So I did.  I quickly snaked my way back down the levels and out into the blessed, open air.  Even Sara's screaming wasn't getting me back in that thing.  I was certain I would pass out and be of no use to anyone.

We foolishly attempted to wait her out.  We sat at the bottom, occasionally encouraging her to come on.  We offered ice cream.  It didn't matter.  She was not moving.

I started contemplating whether there was any way to get to her outside of the structure.  I was prepared to scale it from the outside and hoist her out, but there was no opening.  I could just stand there, helplessly looking through the (dirty)  plastic at my girl with the puffy face and pitiful expression.

I decided to risk the fate of my husband and sent him into the thing.  But about halfway up, I decided he might not fit all the way up and all the way back down, and then wouldn't we be in a world of hurt.  So I called him to come back down.  I contemplated whether we'd have to take the structure apart.  It couldn't be that many nuts and bolts involved, right?

Other children, tired of the Sara-alarm that was continuing to sound, tried to coax Sara down.  She was perfectly capable of going back down those silly steps or the slide, as they showed her over and over again.  When she showed no sign of acquiescing to logic, they too gave up hope and went on.  I heard one little girl sigh and say, "Well, I have to go back to my Nana now..." and then disappear down the dreaded slide.

Some other little girls resorted to calling Sara a baby, which Hallie did not appreciate AT ALL.  Hallie took them on, while I worried about exactly how long my stubborn daughter could sit at the top of that tower.

Having exhausted all of my available resources, I did what any sane person would do.  I thought of the skinniest, most limber member of our family, and I called him.  The conversation went something like this, "Gray?  Hi.  I don't know where you are, but I need some help."

"Ok.  Whatcha need?"

"Well, I kind of need you to come to the Chickfila in Hoover.  Sara is stuck at the top of the playground and won't come down.  She's been up there about 30 minutes."

Sara wails in the background.  Gray chuckles.

"Uh, ok, I'll be right there."

And my knight in shining t-shirt and shorts turned his truck around and rushed to rescue the damsel in distress.  He nonchalantly walked into the playground, hoisted himself up the various levels of stairs, got to the top, where Sara held out her little pudgy hands and moaned, "I can't do it, Gway."  He picked her up and twisted himself and her until they reached the bottom.  A very red-faced, tear-streaked Sara emerged and looked at me with an immediate, "Mommy, can I have my ice cweam now?"

Thank God for little brothers, who make stellar uncles.