Sunday, February 8, 2009


The view was serene. The boys were climbing around the play place, envisioning adventures they could only see in their minds. Tara and I were chatting while reclined on the couch, our attention half on each other and half on the mob of kids, bouncing and running within the confines of the play area at the mall in Richmond.

In Pompeii fashion, our world was shaken by an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius magnitude. It started with one child screaming, which caused all parents radar to immediately ping. Heads swung from conversations as maternal and paternal instinct kicked into overdrive, visions of dismemberment in our heads.

At the center of attention, one child sat peaceful, as putrid brown sludge crept from pant legs and waistband. Her mother grabbing her, in hopes to lessen the damage, sent fecal meteors in various trajectories. I watched, bending at impossible angles to avoid, as one flew passed in slow motion. The steaming globule depositing itself mere inches from my hand.

This is one of those time when you wonder how could all of that come out of such a small child. Nothing was left free of the carnage. Then there was the wave of stench that rolled across the devastation.

"Don't worry, I'll clean it up." the embarrassed mother tried to console.

Moment lost, peace shattered, families fled in all directions, leaving the play place once again at peace, waiting for the next unsuspecting victims.


Daniel said...

N-A-S-T-Y. Need I say more?

jake (to the) holla said...

i tried that at a concert once.... so i could get some breathing room in the crowd. didn't quite work out as planned..........

Anonymous said...

There are certainly other ways to get the monkey bars to yourself but I suppose that one is as good as any.


Brian Miller said...

lol. killing me.

Ethel said...

Oh my goodness; poor little one. :( And poor Mommy. I would way rather be the one getting hit with poo than have to be the one who was responsible for 1) causing, or 2) cleaning up the mess.