Lunch at McDonald's

The parents sit at the tables chatting, and glancing over at the tubes every once in a while. Occasionally, one will stand up, walk over to the tunnels, and announce that it’s time to go home. They scan the climber, looking for their Allie, or Timmy, or Julia. Sometimes the appointed child will come out. Other times, the parent will stay there for a while, reminding the kid to come now, or else, we’re not coming back next time.

The kids are happy, climbing, and sliding, and playing their games. Groups of three or four will come out of the slide at once, then climb back up through the tube entrance together.

The mothers will look over, and smile, recognizing their child, knowing that they are still ok.

Occasionally, a child will cry, and we will check, to make sure it isn’t ours. Sometimes, one of our children will be the one crying, and he will say, “Someone was not nice. Right here,” and point to his forehead. But before we can even hug him, he has run back to the climber, having forgotten the atrocity. I guess it wasn’t that bad.

It is loud, the room echoes with excited laughter, yelling, and noise. The mothers can’t hear each other to well, so we can’t have a real deep conversation. We say, “Now I remember why we only come here once in a while.” But we know that it is worth it; what else are we going to do with our kids on this cold day before Thanksgiving, the ground wet from yesterday’s rain? We know that when we get home, the kids will be calm, and content. They will go color or read books, and no one will fight. They have got their energy out, and besides, we didn’t have to make lunch today.