Rescue Me

I had to go to Chick-Fil-A today. Nope. Not to eat ... although I was tempted ... but to return a cooler that belongs to this particular store. They did some catering for us at work last week, and I needed to get this item back to them. This Chick-Fil-A will live forever in my brain, and, today, that pondered memory came to the surface.

Olivia and I used to go to that Chick-Fil-A a lot. Sometimes we'd picnic on a blanket in the grassy areas of their parking lot (I keep a tablecloth in my van for such times); sometimes we'd sit inside if the harpist was playing (crazy, but true); most of the time, we ate by the windows where we could see the ultimate reward for eating a good lunch ... the outdoor Climbing Tower of Glee. She learned to scale the ropes and levels with precision and grace; it took a while, though, as she was rather rotund in those early years. She'd actually roll up onto the platforms - so cute!

I think she was not quite three when this episode occured. She ate her lunch; we went outside; she met a new friend (always); and proceeded to climb to the top. Where she stayed. For a long time. I'm enjoying the sunshine; eaves-dropping on all the other conversations; admiring the babies around me; not realizing she hadn't come down in a while. After about 30 minutes of play time, it was time for us to go.

I go to the side of the tower and in my best sing-songy mommy voice say, "Oliviaaaaaa. Time to say good-bye to Chick-Fil-A. Come down please."

She almost always came down on first request. Not this time. I wait about 15 seconds or so, and I do it again to make sure she heard me.

"Oooolliiivvviiiiaaaaaa. Come to mommy"

From the depths of the tower, I hear, "I can't."

Now, this is a control issue. She COULD come down. She'd done it plenty of times before. She just didn't WANT to come down. Her new friend of the moment sends a report, "She's stuck."

"Olivia are you stuck?" I ask.

"Uh huh. Come get me." I was NOT going to climb up there this day. I was wearing a skirt, and she knew that if I had to climb up there that I wasn't going to be happy. I'm not petite, and I'm more likely to get stuck than she was.

"Olivia, you are not stuck; I can see you. Come down, please."

"No. I don't want to come down. I'm stuck, so I have to stay."

"Olivia Grace, this is not an option. Come down now, please. Mommy does not want to climb up there."

Here come the tears. Big ones. Loud ones. The eaves-dropping tables have turned.

I let her cry for probably half a minute. Seemed like 10. I could feel the redness climbing up my neck with much more agility than I was about to display. Sweat slid down my back faster than a three-year-old on the curly-q slide.

"Olivia, mommy is not coming up there. You have got to come down to me, and come down now. Please." I was trying to use my manners in front of the mommies.

More tears. Big ones. Loud ones. At this point, the ordeal had been going on about 5 minutes. Seemed like 30.

Realizing that I needed to end this battle. I hiked up my skirt, kicked off my shoes, and proceeded to bump and grind my way to my little perched preschooler. I had done this before, and I vowed this was the ABSOLUTE LAST time.

And it was.

So today, as I pulled into that Chick-Fil-A ... where me and my Little O used to go ... I looked at the Climbing Tower of Glee, and I wanted to rescue her. I wanted her to have a full tummy of nuggets, lemonade in the corners of her lips, and little sparkly shoes stowed in the cubby of the play area.

But, I can't go backwards. And she's moving foward at warp speed. But when she needs rescuing, I'm gonna be there. Skirt and all.