Mall Toddler Play Area:Enemy of the Paranoid Father

I have been reluctant to take Grace to the toddler play area at the mall, however, I have recently been outvoted by, well, everyone else who has a vote including the G herself. I was hoping she would, upon being plopped at the entrance, give me a look that said, "Seriously? What is this garbage? Let's get the hell out of here Daddy." Instead, she did what any normal kid would (and should) do-promptly forgot about me and went running.

Why have I been reluctant? Because in this play area there are things she can CRASH into. Things she can FALL off of. Things she can get STUCK in.

Then the germophobe takes the wheel of my brain sending it careening into such negative thoughts like 'I wonder how many kids have already touched that lever today?' or 'How often do you suppose they sanitize this equipment?'. Of course, there's always at least one kid who's hacking more than Val Kilmer in Tombstone. Wonder what ailment he's launching in little spittle bombers waiting to drop their atomic disease all over everyone else?

Also, Grace, as many young learners do, loves to observe and follow the bigger kids. I think it is awesome that she is not intimidated by them and most of the bigger kids have no problem with Grace tagging along. Yet there are often a few that dangerously run and jump with little regard for anyone else. Not coincidentally, these are often the kids with the parents who can't seem to pull their eyes away from their book or texting. I don't want to see these kids accidentally play Scott Stevens making my Grace an unwitting Eric Lindros . But it is fun watching Grace follow the bigger kids, though she is about a half step behind them. By the time she enters the tunnel they are out the other end. By the time she arrives at a piece of equipment they are off to the next. Still, she trudges on, happy to be part of the group. Today, I got a little emotional watching her play, knowing that our baby is long gone; she's now a tiny person ready to engage this world head-on.

While it is true that I exaggerate (sort of) my anxiety levels for laughs, it brought me joy to watch Grace run, climb and play carefree, completely unburdened by fear or worry. It is my great wish for her that this will always be true.

Goin' Back In Time.

If you had tickets for two round trip rides in a time machine, where would you go? For the sake of the experiment, exclude visiting friends or relatives who have passed because I think that would be an obvious choice for most of us. My first stop would be sometime during the Second Continental Congress when breaking free from England was debated and chosen as a course of action. My second choice may be a bit silly and frivolous because I would be blowing an opportunity to see a time/culture vastly different than ours. However, I would love to have attended the Miracle on Ice at Lake Placid in 1980. Where would your time passport be stamped?

Gaffigan Was Right.

Perhaps I was bleary-eyed because I was shopping late at night. Perhaps the Wal-mart freezer door was fogged with condensation. Whatever the case, I recently misread the label on my Lean Pockets box. It doesn't say "Surprisingly Delicious", but in fact reads "Satisfyingly Delicious" which is far less accurate than the former. Despite the fact that I eat Lean Pockets regularly, there really is little delicious about meat type-product blended with cheese-type product stuffed into bread-type product. And the only thing that Lean Pockets satisfy is the FDA's apparently low requirements to be called "food" and be sold in your grocer's freezers.

For a funny take on Hot Pockets check out Jim Gaffigan's stand-up bit about them.

If You Click It More Than Once, You're Playing With It.

I don't make it a habit to know what others are doing in public restrooms; I'm a silently stare at the wall above the urinal kind of guy. Rarer still would be me commenting on what others do in a public restroom, but yesterday I heard something that brought questions to mind. While at the urinal, I heard the distinct click-clacks and beeps of the gentleman in the stall beside me firing off some text messages. I assume he was texting. I suppose he could be some sort of cyborg with a robot appendage that clicked and beeped as he pleasured himself (which, given the volume of unwrapped magazines we find in the bookstore bathroom, appears to be an all too frequent occurrence.) For my sanity's sake I will assume he was merely texting.

So, the question is- Do you multi-task by making and taking calls and/or text messages while in the john? Because if I am forced to use a public restroom for a sit-down, and believe me that occurs only in the most dire circumstance, I can assure you that I'm not lingering to send out some LOLs. The germophobe and technophobe in me can't think of anything that couldn't wait until I was finished. Does this make me an old fuddy-duddy? Has "instant" messaging become so pervasive that there is no sanctuary from communication? Or have I simply missed the boat and not realized he was texting on the newest social networking platform Shitter Twitter?