That THING at the Park! (an unlikely story of answered prayer)

I’m delighted to once again be participating in the Third Thursday Thoughts Hearts at Home blog hop. “Hearts at Home seeks to encourage, equip, and educate every mom in every season of motherhood using Christian values to strengthen families.”Today’s topic is “tell about a time at the playground when THAT THING happened.”  If you’re in the mood to be reminded that you’re not alone in motherhood’s embarrassing moments, use the link at the bottom of this post and read some of the “lived to tell about it” moments that other moms have posted today.  Then remember that a good sense of humor is the best way  to battle the “That Thing Blues.” 


 A golden canopy of autumn foliage hovered above the playground that day. I remember how the wind swirled crunchy leaves around the swing set poles and across the lowest monkey bars. But the chill in the air reminded me that winter would soon be here. That thought alone was depressing. Worse yet was the thought that followed: “I’m at the park alone. Again.”

 We’d lived in our new community for over a year and I was still waiting to meet a true friend, a mom who understood the delights and demands of the preschool years.

I’d been hopeful that day when I’d hauled my little ones to the park. The playground was teeming with women, all trying to capture one last taste of fall before the forecasted cold settled in at the week’s end. As soon as their feet hit the parking lot, my kids took off racing for the empty tire swing. I followed closely behind and assumed my standard role as swing-pusher. My children squealed and laughed and screamed, “higher, higher…” until their mommy finally begged for a break. At that point, an older woman standing near by with a rambunctious little boy offered to take my place at the swing.  My shy four-year-old immediately jumped out of the tire and joined me on a nearby bench, while my gregarious toddler remained in the tire swing and welcomed the older woman’s grandson as her new swing mate.

I was studying a curly-haired mom across the playground who was playing tag with her three little ones, and wishing I had a friend when all of a sudden I heard a scream from the tire swing, “EWWWW!! She splattered me!”

I turned my head just in time to see my daughter’s seat mate flinging his small body out of the swaying tire in a smooth jump-and-roll move that would have impressed most any gymnast. Grandmother’s hand slipped from the rugged tire to her mouth as she gasped at the commotion that had just transpired. Without pausing to see if my crying daughter was okay, Grandma abandoned her post by the swing and hurried to the squealing boy’s side. I watched horrified as she grabbed a handful of crispy leaves from the ground and attempted to wipe something off of her grandson’s shoe. Something brown and chunky, like dog food that had been soaked in water. Or chicken nuggets that had been swallowed and regurgitated.

I tore my gaze from the primitive clean-up session at the playground’s edge and hurried to my two-year-old’s side. My little one was covered with the same suspicious spew as her squawking seat mate. However, one difference set the two swing-participants apart: my toddler’s shoes were the ONLY thing that didn’t boast splatters of puke.

I swept up my stinky girl in a single swipe, secured her under my arm, and grabbed my preschooler’s hand. Ignoring the countless stares, I gently tugged my crying duo toward the parking lot.

“Let go, let go,” my four-year-old hollered loud enough for the entire playground to hear. “You’re getting Lizzy’s barf all over me!”

I dropped my son’s hand and prayed that he would follow me to the van so I wouldn’t have to return to the scene of the disaster.

Moments later, I pulled out of the parking lot with a naked toddler buckled in her car seat behind me and a tow-headed boy warning me from the back seat that he, too, might retch if I he had to sit next to his aromatic sister much longer.  When we were stopped at a nearby intersection, I rolled down the window to let some fresh air fumigate the van and I noticed the young woman from the playground walking along the side walk with all of her children.  She flashed me a sympathetic smile and friendly wave.

Soon after, the winter snows buried the tire swing and any remaining evidence of our playground puke-performance. Still, secretly, I swore I’d protect my pride and never return to that park again.  I kept my promise until the following summer when the kids finally talked me into a re-visit. I agreed on one condition: that nobody would play on the tire swing. Our return to the playground was an uneventful one. I kept an eye out for any sign of the old grandma or her grandson who had caught my daughter’s puke in his shoe, but thankfully, I didn’t spot any faces I recognized. That is, until we spread out our picnic blanket near the swing set.

As I was passing out peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, an oddly familiar looking young woman waltzed up behind me and asked, “Could we join you?”

I turned to see the tag-playing mom and her smiling clan of kids. I patted the spot beside me and said, “We’d love to share our blanket.”

“Don’t we know you?” one of the children asked as her mommy pulled sandwiches from a tattered backpack and passed out small bottles of water.

My son studied his picnic-mate’s brown curls and toothy grin and assured her that they’d never met before.

Years later, when I was a mom toting not two, but five children to the playground, I asked my dear friend why she had chosen to get to know me instead of pursuing any of the other women at the playground on that fateful day.

With a giggle, she replied, “I remembered how patient you were when your little girl puked all over the tire swing and I figured that you’d make a great friend for a maxed-out mom like me!”

I don’t get to linger at the playground with my “park friend” any more. She’s followed the Lord’s lead to India where she is faithfully befriending new women who need the light of Jesus in their lives. But every time I push one of my kids on a tire swing, I smile. And I thank God for being a Father who can turn “that thing” at the playground into “that thing” for which my heart longed.

The Overflow:  You faithfully answer our prayers with awesome deeds, O God our savior.-Psalm 65:5