Skate park woes

I don’t pretend to know the first thing about skating. I just strap the helmets to their heads, and say, “Try not to knock out your teeth. I mean it.” and off the little gromlets go. We usually hit up the skatepark every few days or so. I always feel super hip, with all the sweaty teen-aged boys that have skipped school, and haven’t showered in weeks. It's super cool to pull into the parking as my brood spills out of the car when I open our sliding door.

This isn’t exactly a stealthy place to go. In most situations, it’s very easy to look the other way, because there’s no telling who the owner of the little boy peeing in the middle of the grass is, when there’s 10 other moms standing around at the playground. It’s easy to give that same disgusted look: WHO IS THAT CHILD’S MOTHER!? and blend right in...

However, when the random three year old that I brought is sprawled out at the bottom of the ramp, making it impossible for others to skate, it’s hard to blend in when I’m the only one with there with a double stroller and sippy cups. I feel the dagger stares, and always feel sheepish as I pry the kid off the ground while he’s yelling things like, “But MOOOOM! There’s GUM on the ground! I almost got it!!!”

I got this.

“Who’s kid is rocket launching his skateboard off ramps??

I’m sorry. Did that hit you in the shin?? Oh. You’re head?

You’re ok! You look strong... Right? Uh, you’re bleeding.”

This here is the very same skate bowl we are about to talk about. And that is a real life, adult human. Please notice his size in portion to the depth of the bowl. Thank you.

J and Hugh were skating up and down the sides of the bowl, and having a great time. I thought it was excellent that they were contained. But, as the number of skater dudes increased around the circumference of the bowl, I realized their time was up; they needed to share like good little boys. Seeing as how the bowl is 63 feet deep (or something), I realized I needed to climb in to help them out.

The exact (EXACT!) moment that I slid into the bowl to retrieve my babes, a light bulb of realization flashed: I am going to be stuck. Unfortunately, I was already at the bottom of the bowl when I had this realization.

And my heart sunk.

Grif was actually attached to my body with his baby carrier, as I hoisted J and Hugh up, and they climbed their way out.

So, there I was.

And there I stood.

I acted like I knew exactly what I was doing, as I casually (freaking out) scanned the borders of the bowl, trying to figure out a way to get out. Is there a part where it isn’t so steep? No. Is there stairs? Uh... No. Chair lift? Elevator?

Guys. I was literally standing around, trying to keep my cool, for about 5 minutes straight. I was trying to figure out what on earth to do, while staring at the cement wall, daring it to move. I could feel the stares of the mini-crowd that had appeared behind me, trying to figure out why this girl (with her baby) was standing in the bowl...

I thought to myself: Self. You are really, really, really stupid. This was not a good idea. At all.

There was no way I was getting out with Grif attached to me. As I was brain storming, I thought if I unstrapped him from the baby carrier, and tried to hand him up to J, or push him up to the top, or something, then I could try to to hoist my body up. That idea lasted about .39 seconds, before I realized I couldn’t even reach the top without laying down (because the sides are NOT straight up...they are at an angle), which would cause me to slide to the bottom ANYWAY.

And then, what could be marked as my greatest moment in mom history, one of the skater dudes that was standing around with his friends, watching the moron that got stuck in the bowl with her BABY, finally emerged from the group (I believe his friends shoved him....he must have lost the bet), and walked over to me, trying his darndest to not point and laugh and said, “Uh.... Do you want some help?”

I hung my head low, and said, “Yes. Can you hold my baby?”

And I proceeded to hand said skater-boy my 6 month old baby, as I not-so-gracefully climbed out of the 57 foot bowl.

I got my baby back, and I told the boys it was time to go.