Somethin' Bad's Goin Down At the Fun House.

The Fun House, the Play Place, the Jump Room, the Bouncey Thing. They're all the same. Annoying.

But I go because I love my child. And it's only 2 bucks. And her daddy is still out of town and I'm runnin' out of things to do, people!

But before we go any further let me remind you of my penchant for "bathroom runs" (no pun intended) at the worst of times. If you don't believe me please check out
this drama and this drama.

So I take Remi to the Bounce Around and immediately I am out of my element. I brought nothing to read while I sit lazily by hoping she doesn't hurt herself. And it's far too loud to talk on my cell. What'supwiththat? Do they not take these things into consideration? There should be a phone booth and a coffee table full of InStyle. Seriously people, do I have to think of everything?

At first we are not alone. The first 30 minutes we weave and bob in between Opie and his little sister. But then they had to leave, it was noon and apparently their mom feeds them lunch. But us? Nah. We keep playing.

I look around.
We're alone.
And suddnely, in what can only be described as a moment of insanity I decide...I'm going in.

The following story will now be divided into 3 parts.

Part One: Big Mistake to go in.

It seems so easy really.

You just hold back the little flap and inch your way in.

Anybody can do it. But not everybody should.

Take me for instance. I got in just fine. It was the getting out that was the problem. Thankfully Remi isn't 5 years old. At two it's "Fun! Mamma's coming in! She's going to play! This is the best day ever!" At five? I imagine it's, "Kill-me-now-my-mom-is-coming-in-and-dear-Lord-help-her-she-can't-get-out."

But I'm a good mom.
I'm not resentful that there are no magazines.
I'm not resenting the blatant disrespect for cell phones.
I'm not harboring ill will to your father who is laid up in a hotel room ordering room service. Naaaaaaah.
I'm a good mom.
See? I'm jumping. I'm jumping.
And................she's down.

Part Two: "Remi? Let's try the slide."

Now at this point the little thing you jump in is just not cutting it for me. So let's try something different. Something exciting. Something mommy can really embarrass you in.

We head over to what appears to be an obstacle course of sorts. Okay, this is different, this is cool, this looks fun. Right? Wrong.

Remi has no problem with it. She's good to go. She also weighed in at 27 pounds last we checked. Wanna know what I weighed in last we checked? How rude.

Now as I make the turn to do this obstacle course it becomes quite clear that there is no getting out - so finish it, I must. But who am I kidding? I can inch myself backwards and she'd be none the wiser. Except that now a little red headed boy with a really high pitched voice and an ax to grind has entered the room and is hot on my tail.

"Keep going," he yells at me.
"I'm trying," I yell back.
"Why aren't you going forward?"
"Because I'm claustrophobic and I'm about to hyperventilate. Do you even know what any of those words mean?" I scream.
His response? "Duh."
"Well then, back up!"
"I can't. Everyone knows you have to finish it once you get in here. You're almost done."

And at that moment I realize that in his own special demonic way he is encouraging me. And it feels nice. Because clearly, Remi could care less.

And then............it happens.

Part Three: Keep 'er Moving.

Today I can't blame it on fried foods.
I can't blame it on salty foods.
I can't blame it on eating chili for breakfast.
I can't blame it on the rain.
Because I had eaten nothing. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

But in a split second I felt something come over me and knew that if I didn't evacuate that jump course right that very minute there was a good chance someone was going to die. And considering Chucky was behind me - it was looking like a bad day for him.

"Move back!" I screamed at him.
"Keep moving." He yelled back.
"I can't keep moving..."
"Keep moving."
"Do you want me to tell your mom?"
"I don't care."
"Oh really? Because I totally..."
"Ooohhhh gross...somebody..."
"Hush. Don't say another word."
"What is that?"
"It's your upper lip."

Yes, I actually said that to a six year old. Oh, I don't know if he was six. Maybe he was 27. All I know was he was standing between me and the door that said "Please flush only once" on the front of it. And by George, if I had to take him out, then call it collateral damage.

But in that instance I knew that it was do or die. It was: take that obstacle course or lay there in a pool of my own filth.

If Chucky could do it, I could too.

And do it, I did. I began throwing myself into positions that have never been seen before. I hurled myself into inflatable things that would pop back and hit me square in the face. I bounced. I fell. I cried. I screamed. I begged for God to give me the strength to endure. And with every inch that bathroom door looked closer and closer.

I finally mustered up enough strength to climb up the stairs and shoot myself down a slide.

It took every single cell in my body to hold it all in. I kid you not.
I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Die.

I took the slide so fast that I nearly landed directly on top of Remi. But I had to look at her as simply an obstacle in my way. I picked her up and threw her as hard and as far as I could. I dove for that little opening in the doorway and inched every piece of me out of it, all the while praying that God would grant me 15 more seconds on this earth.

I cleared - in one fail swoop - 2 pairs of Crocs and a hair bow. I looked around for Chucky's mom but never saw her. Figures.

I ran in to the little piece of heaven that was built just off the main room. I shut the door behind me, leaving Remi to fend for herself with Chucky. (I wasn't worried. She could take him.) And I thanked God for some privacy and that there was actually toilet tissue.

Epilogue: Don't build a bathroom right off of the main room. It's humiliating.

I spent a few minutes in there, I'm not gonna lie. The situation escalated and it required some time that I hadn't intended on giving. But when all was said and done - I felt like a new woman. I could face the world. I could find my child, put her Crocs on her and still still "fry it up in a pan."

But as I opened up the door into what I assumed to be a room with no one but Remi and Chucky. I find 14 little tiaras running from pillar to post. A birthday party.

And boy, have I just helped them get it started with a bang.

I grabbed Remi up - and slapped her shoes on her as fast as I could. I had to get out of there before one of those little 5 year olds said something nasty about me. I'm scared of today's youth. I'm not gonna lie.

But all I heard was Chucky, screaming, "Ooooohhhhhhh gross....somebody......"