Earlier this week I was walking through the mall and came across one of those child play areas where tired shoppers bring their kids to release pent up energy by climbing on things and running around (while the parents watch closely from benches encircling the play equipment). Before I ever saw it, I heard it. I heard the squealy voices of tiny children…times 50. My reaction? I did not walk by pleasantly day dreaming of the day when I would bring my little guy to this very spot; instead, I promptly shifted course to get to my store destination another way since I already had the start of a headache.
I can’t help but wonder if these crowded, germy play areas are a needed respite for parents with small children, or if they really are hell on earth. Phil and I already discussed this crazy play area and how, once our son is born, we must be careful to never bring him down that hallway of the mall. We’re thinking it might be better if he doesn’t know such a place exists. Perhaps that’s just a bad sign of my future parenting prowess.
I get it. The mall is not much fun for small children. One of my early childhood memories was of my parents asking me if I wanted to go to the mall. I excitedly said yes. However, after we arrived I realized that I had my definition of a mall all wrong. I seriously thought we were going to an amusement park. I suppose I would have been less disappointed if they at least had a play area. My parents probably would have been good enough to take me there. Here’s hoping that someday I’ll have the mental and physical strength to do the same.