Winter Water Park

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.