My cousin, Pat, was going to a water park with her daughter
and great grandsons. Did I want to tag
along? Sure. It sounded like fun. Except it was the middle of a very cold
winter.
I awoke the day of the water park journey to temperatures
below zero with snow flying around. I
couldn't imagine taking a fifteen month old and a four year old to a water park on a
day like this. But I was a southern
girl, not a seasoned winter veteran.
Yet.
I was up for the challenge.
I pulled on my long johns, dug out my warmest sweater, crammed my feet
into my cozy Ugg boots, wrapped a wool scarf around my neck, slipped into my
long down coat, tugged a cap over my ears, and located two matching
gloves. I was ready. No, wait!
Hand warmers. I would need hand
warmers. It was frigid outside.
All the way to Omaha
I envisioned the winter water park.
Children were zooming down frozen slides like the luge in the winter
Olympics. The lazy river had not tubes,
but blocks of ice to float around on.
Icicles dangled everywhere for children to break off. The water would be frozen for an impromptu
game of broomball or sock skating. This
was going to be an adventure.
A hour and a half later the snow had stopped. We stopped in front of a huge building. Bathing suit clad children raced towards it at break neck speed. Parents toting coats and mittens disappeared
after them through the double doors.
This was not a winter water park.
It was a warm indoor child's water fantasy. Ditch the hand warmers. Quick!
Twenty-seven minutes later we had changed two wiggly,
excited boys out of winter gear and into summer trunks. Our cousin, Shannon, had shown up to escort
the four year old, while Pat's daughter took the fifteen month old wherever his
toddling legs would take him. My job was to
sit at the table and watch the mounds of towels and baby gear.
This was an "I've been in the house too long this
winter" mad house. Children of all
ages ignored lifeguards warning to "walk" and sprinted in every
direction. There was jumping and sliding
and splashing and laughter every where.
Buckets filled over head with thousands of gallons of water
to be dumped periodically on unsuspecting children. There were no tubes in sight for the lazy
river. Pat disappeared. Upon reappearing she was lugging a double
tube. She wouldn't say where she had
obtained it. I was afraid to ask what
small child she had mugged for it.
Ignorance is bliss.
Toddlers swooshed down miniature slides. Older children screamed down the larger
twisty slides. Everyone was enjoying
this place of perpetual summer with their winter white bodies.
I was sitting in view of the baby pool. It had two small slides and a lifeguard. Parents sat around chatting or playing on
their phone. I spied one napping in a
reclining chair. They felt comfortable
letting their children bop around without their supervision.
I was beginning to wish I had brought my swim suit to join
in the fun. Then I saw it.
A small boy. About
two or three. He was zipping down the
slide, swaggering his way back up the steps, cutting in line and swooshing down
again. Between slides he was jumping
from foot to foot. Hopping up and
down. Grabbing between his legs. I knew this dance. The potty dance!
No parent stepped in to rescue this water-logged child. He continued to hop and dance. Then stillness. He walked out of the water and
up the steps without so much as a bounce.
I'm thinking his legs were a bit warmer and so was the water.
Four hours later, tired boys were bundled in winter clothing
and buckled in their car seats. The car
was headed towards home with snow falling around us. Pat says she's bringing her other
grandchildren next week. Did I want to
come? I could bring my swimsuit next
time. She assured me the water was not
at all cold.
Next time I will ditch the long johns. But I will continue to view the craziness
from the side lines. I know why the
water is warm.
