It has been a couple weeks since the incident, so I think I can talk about it without crying. Here goes nothing.
As all moms to toddlers within a five hour drive of their family know, sometimes you just need to take a road trip. Visiting family can be a much needed vacation from the toilsome, tedious routine of waking up at the same time every day, making oatmeal, and participating in the monotony of the neighborhood park yet again. Lunch. Nap. Snack. “Run In Circles Time.” Desperate screen time. Dishes. Bedtime. Repeat.
Rhett had been saving lives one hospital discharge at a time for 14 hours a day, 7 days a week, for far too long. I was left with way too much time to dream of the citrus trees, playful cousins, and hyper involved grandparents only a short drive away. It was time for a visit.
On a good day, the commute is less than five hours, front door to front door. With my passenger seat stocked better than the Neighborhood Market Walmart, the iPad fully charged and meticulously strapped to the headrest, and my finally-forward-facing-toddler equipped with sippy cup and seatbelt, we were ready to crush this road trip. It would be fast. Easy. As all road trips with toddlers are.
Fortunately for us, there is a miniature DisneyLand right at the halfway mark between Loma Linda, CA and Mesa, AZ. It is one of the best kept secrets of California. You won’t find it on the tourist guides. You’ll barely notice the highway sign notifying you when it is .5 miles away. This hidden gem is called Blythe. While it does not have Space Mountain or the Electric Light Parade, it has something better. A McDonalds Play Place.
After 2.5 hours of driving, my son squawked once to let me know that Lion King had ended over half an hour ago, and he was quite ready to stretch his legs, if it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for me. I looked around and saw the beautiful golden arches off to my left, and quickly pulled off the highway.
Moments later my son was frolicking in the sparkling cleanliness of toddler mecca. Let’s be honest: even I was enthralled by the multilevel haven for children of all ages. Playing a role all mothers love, the contortionist, I slid my way up the plastic steps into spaces that should have been too small for me. We played. All was as well as it has ever been, until one mom a level below us decided she had had enough.
“Okay, kids. It’s time to go.”
I shook my head at her unfathomable lack of perspective. So did her children.
“I’ll get you each an ice-cream cone on the way out if you get out of the play place.”
My eyes darted to my son. He met my anxious gaze to let me know he had heard her loud and clear.
“I-creem?” he repeated, and tumbled down the stairs. He bolted out of the play area and into the elite dining area faster than I could say disinfectant wipes. I snagged his shoes from the cubby and chased him out to the order counter, where he stood pointing at the McFlurry machine.
“Yes,” I said, defeated. “I will happily get you some ice cream.” Road trips are not for nutrition. They are for survival.
There is nothing quite like the tranquility of waiting in line with a toddler, but when it was almost my turn, I was ready to put in our order. That’s when I heard the fateful words: “I’m sorry, our ice cream machines are broken.”
Later, when my sister asked about the bite marks on my arms and the exhaustion on my face, I told her what happens when you deny a toddler his promised ice cream. She informed me that this was not the first time she had heard tales of woe from the McDonalds ice cream customers. Apparently this is an epidemic. I can only assume Wendy’s or some other competitor has placed malware within the machines in order to sway customers away from the delectable M&M McFlurry and onto their doorsteps. And so I must plead with that fast food chain to stop their malicious business practices. Think of the children. Think of the mothers. Save the sanity of road-trippers everywhere. Some of them have hours left to drive.
