On a day where there were many occasions to take him out of the car and
put him back in, he was exceedingly miserable with getting in. We'd
drive a little and then have some reason to get out, and then putting him
in to get to the next place was a screaming, tortured nightmare. It
didn't help that his midday nap had been cut short by a soaking wet diaper
and he never managed to drift back into it again.Finally, errands out of the way -- and some just ditched for the nonce -- I wanted to do something fun for him. I remembered that there was a park I'd heard had a good playground set near us, in the town of Monona, which is adjacent to and east of Madison. Madison and Monona together circle Lake Monona. Imagine forming a circle with your hands so that your thumbs touch below and your fingers touch above. One hand is Madison and other is Monona.
On the way to Winnequah Park, we came upon a McDonald's restaurant. I pulled into the drive-through, thinking some food might do the boy good. Then I thought -- hey, Happy Meal! This is the place where you can get a whole meal for a little kid, and a toy to boot. Perfect. A Happy Meal -- that'll make my child happy.
Major bonus: it would also solve the problem of his having drained all the milk from his sippy cup. After an excruciating wait in the drive-through line -- occasional, dreadful, whimpers of distress from the passenger seat -- I ordered the meal with cheeseburger, fries, and milk.
By the time we got to the park, I had to pee something awful. But the park had not so much as a Port-A-John within easy walking distance.
So we circled back to the Monona Community Center, unloaded from the car, and used the bathroom there. Ulysses was happy to be there. And it was another twisting, kicking struggle to get him back in the car to head to our real destination. I knew -- though he couldn't know -- it would be the last put-him-back-in before he got a chance to relax and have a good time.
Parking for the playground was inconventiently located a few hundred yards from the playground itself, across a lovely, boulder-bounded, fast, deep stream situated down steep banks of slippery, long grass. Extremely attractive to a toddler. Extremely.
Finally, we made it to the playground! There was a nice wooden bench shaped like a triangular wedge, low enough for a small child to sit on. While I unpacked our meal there, Ulysses headed happily towards the play equipment, temporarily having forgotten the stream.
I called his name and held up the box to show. He caught sight of it and came running back to see.
Then I realized.
No milk.
I looked over at our van.
There was no safe way for me -- me, who is dedicated to being non-overprotective -- to get to the van and and look for a water bottle without taking him with me. Leaving him would put him way too close to the street for me to get to him, should he decide to head for it. It would also put the fast-moving, teacherous-banked stream between us. It would also leave him unattended on the tallest, by far, playground equipment we'd yet encountered.
Taking him with me would be torturing him. It would mean crossing the much-desired stream again -- twice. On each leg of the journey, he would have to watch as we approached it, twice have his attempts to explore it denied, and twice watch it recede when we passed it. It would also mean he would have to witness my opening the car doors. He would surely think it meant he was about to be forced back into the seat just as he was enjoying the place we'd come to -- again.
And how would I manage him while I rummaged inside for water bottles? I couldn't turn my back for more than a second or two. The lot was too close to the street. And the stream. What would I do? Strap him into the seat for safety?
So I decided we would stay at the playground. Better to take the chance that a cheeseburger and fries would make him too thirsty for my milk to slake his thirst. Better that than to face the certainty that taking him back to the car to look for water (that might not even be there) would be a nightmare.
So we played at the park (with ocassional fights against stream exploration) and shared the burger and fries. I let Ulysses discover in his own time that there was a toy inside the box. A statuette of Chip 'n' Dale. We walked across the grass to get closer to a gaggle of geese, and to a flock of ducks. During these forays, I discovered that the greenspace was a veritable mine field of dog poops, in some places several deposits per square foot. It should go without saying that U does not know yet to avoid stepping in these piles, and in fact does not know yet that these are not supposed to be interesting playthings.
Let me say for the record that I am so far not impressed with the Monona Park Service.
The weather turned cold and icy drops began to fall. Ulysses had had enough play and run-around time so that by now -- the second try to put him back in the van and leave the park -- he was ready to go. (There was no drinking water in the van, by the way.)
I drove back to McDonald's and queued up at the drive-through.
"Take your order?"
"I came here a couple of hours ago and bought a Happy Meal. I drove all the way to where we were going and it turned out you left out the milk. By then we were all unpacked and out of the car."
Pause. Then, "Hold on a second."
After a short wait, I was directed to drive up to the second window. There a young woman handed me a milk, along with an apology.
"No," I said, taking the bottle. "What I want is a fresh, hot Happy Meal. The complete package that I ordered in the first place. Because when a toddler doesn't get what they want, nobody has a 'happy meal.'"
"Just a second," she said, and disappeared into the restaurant. A few seconds later, a voice called out to me, "What was in that Happy Meal?"
"A cheeseburger and fries," I said.
Those were the freshest fries I've had from a McDonald's for years.
Anybody out there want our extra Chip 'n' Dale statuette?