“I told you I don’t know where your Scooby-Doo Fred doll is!” I yelled to Micah, as I vacuumed crackers off the couch.

“Stop yelling at me Mommy!”

“She’s not yelling at you, Micah,” Barrett said in my defense. “She’s helping you hear.”

Barrett grabbed his hair and turned to me. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

It’d been cold and raining for three straight days and the kids were out of control.

“I know, but where?” I asked. “All the museums will be packed.”

Barrett stared past me at the front door. “What about that indoor playground Going Bonkers?” he said, pinching the skin between his eyes.

Going Bonkers – after you get past the stinky feet smell – is amazing. Its indoor tunnels, stairs, ladders and multiple slides make the indoor playground the largest I’ve seen since Dallas’s once prized Sesame Place. There’s an area for big kids, like Micah and Barrett, to climb multi-story nets. And a separate space for the little ones – like Maddox – to crawl through colorful tunnels and peer out the many port holes.

Micah and Barrett took off at breakneck speed up the ropes while I set Maddox down next to the play structure for crawlers and wobbly walkers. Every now and then, we would hear a crack of thunder and the blistering rain, but even Mother Nature’s tantrum couldn’t drown out the excited hysteria at Going Bonkers.

Maddox toddled past a little girl named “Clementine.” (I knew her name because it was monogrammed on her dress, bloomers, and diaper bag.) Then he made it to the second level right above Clementine, where he almost made a little girl in a purple jumper face-plant as he tried to push pass her.

“Be careful Maddox,” I called out.

Maddox successfully made it around the purple jumper girl on his mission to reach the race car on the third level.

With Maddox well on his way, I got comfortable in a chair next to Clementine’s mother, “Lululemon.” (I knew her name because it was printed on her pants, t-shirt, and vinyasa scarf.) After Lululemon finished up a call about her dog’s gluten-free diet she crawled into the play structure next to Clementine for some mother-daughter bonding.

I held back tears as I watched Clementine and her mother – vaguely remembering what it felt like with the first child. The pride at every coo. The nervousness for every step. The apprehension around everything that wasn’t boiled multiple times a day.

Then something happened.

I noticed a drop hit Lululemon’s head. Then a drop hit her arm. She flinched and looked around.

“Oh, man,” I said to Lululemon. “This storm must be bad. Is the roof leaking?”

Horror flowed through my veins when I looked up and beheld – not a roof leak – but the purple jumper girl. Squatting, luxuriating in the rush of urine running down her legs.

“Don’t look up!” I yelled to Lululemon.

But it was too late.

She’d looked up, mouth open and eyes wide.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, and in a final valiant act of complete self-sacrifice, Lululemon instantly threw herself over Clementine, absorbing the full force of the sticky downpour.

I’d like to say I didn’t laugh.

[Insert uncomfortable silence.]

I can say, I didn’t laugh until recounting the story to Barrett on the way home. When I did, I laughed so hard I was almost in the same predicament as the purple jumper girl.

Still, I think I’ve recovered now. Enough so that if I ever see Lululemon again, I’m going to tell her two things:

1. Your utterly selfless act to shield your child may have cost you an outfit and some pride, but you gained my respect. You, my friend, are a flower in the sands of motherhood.

2.  Sometimes, it will feel like life is peeing on your parade. In those moments, keep your eyes fixed on heaven. . . . Unless you’re at Going Bonkers.

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