I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
August 12, 2008
>
With a dry mouth and racing heart, I looked up at the dizzying cliff ahead of me. How on earth was I supposed to scale this thing with two kids and a stroller? I took a deep breath.
“Okay, Punky, you’re going first. I’ll be right behind you,” I said. She looked at me, surprised.
“But Mommy, you always hold my hand,” she said in a small voice.
“I can’t hold your hand this time,” I responded. “I’ve got to go behind you with Bruiser in the stroller. But don’t worry, you’re a big girl now.” I tried to sound confident. “You can do it!”
My four-year-old daughter looked at me with a skepticism that was mirrored in my own eyes. I knew it as well as she did: This was sooo not gonna work. But I could see a man coming toward us out of the corner of my eye.
“Let’s do this,” I said grimly, positioning her at the edge of the escalator. “When I say go, just step right on.” She stood at the edge, hesitating as the moving staircase rushed forward, just inches before her. “Okay, now, GO!” I said. She took a step…
…right onto a seam that would soon become a stair. “Punky!” I yelped. The stairs began to rise and she teetered backward, squealing. Quickly, I lifted up the stroller behind her to support her as she fell. “GAW!” I heard the man say from behind us, watching the whole scene. I ignored him.
Propping herself up on her elbows, her legs sticking straight up in the air, Punky whimpered as we rode up the escalator. I stood mute with horror, wondering how on earth I was going to get the three of us and a stroller out of the log jam situation that awaited us at the top. In that ten-second span, I had visions of Punky’s dress getting caught up in the tines of the escalator steps, or worse, ohmygod, SHE WAS WEARING CROCS! SHE WAS WEARING CROCS! Visions of mutilated toes filled my head. We were finished.
As we neared the top, I reached over the stroller, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, lifting her off the ground as much as I could. She stumbled, trying to get her balance, and was rear-ended by the stroller, which went forward onto its front wheels as the escalator relentlessly pushed us forward. With Bruiser hanging from his stroller straps, staring down at the moving steps, Punky finally tripped off the escalator, closely followed by the wheelie-popping stroller, and finally, me.
We paused for a second, catching our breaths, and Mr. Gaw reached the top of the escalator and headed toward us. I looked up, expecting the usual words of concern that come from passers-by after near disaster.
“Does you knows where the guards is?” he asked, his mouth opening to reveal a set of teeth that looked like a row of headstones after a hurricane.
“What?”
“The guards. Does you knows where they is?”
“Uh, no.”
He left.
Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there. As you know, what goes up must come down. After storytime at the library was over, we found ourselves back at the parking deck escalator. This time, I looked down its narrow well and felt as if I were staring into the depths of the Grand Canyon. I had planned to fold up the stroller and hold it and Bruiser in one arm while holding Punky’s hand with the other. Trying to maneuver the folded up stroller and Bruiser together, though, I realized this would be impossible, particularly in the two-inch wedges I had foolishly chosen to wear that day.
“Uh, you want to go first? I asked Punky. She gulped and shook her head. I thought for a moment. There was only one thing to do, besides have a panic attack. Bending down, I sent the stroller down ahead of us, where it lodged at the bottom, blocking our path.
“Okay, I’m going to go first and I want you to come right behind us,” I said. It was a narrow escalator and I needed to hold onto the rail at least while I stepped on with Bruiser. I took a deep breath and got on.
“Mommy!” Punky shrieked. I looked back. She hadn’t gotten on and I was several feet down. I turned around and started climbing back up as quickly as I could, Bruiser wiggling wildly in my arms. Stepping back off, I grabbed Punky’s hand.
“Okay,” I said breathlessly. “Let’s go!” I stepped on, pulling Punky behind me and praying I could keep my balance. Miraculously, we made it without any major incident. At the bottom, I stepped carefully over the stroller and lifted Punky over it by one arm behind me. Still shaking with anxiety, I walked with the kids to the car in the parking deck. Never again, I told myself. The next time we come to Story Time, we will ONLY park on the library level of the deck, even if I have to leave 30 minutes early and drive around and around until a spot opens up.
And that’s exactly what I did on Saturday, when we returned to the library for a puppet show. As we were leaving, we smugly passed the escalators on our way out and I noticed a mom preparing to go down with an infant carrier in one hand and a stroller in the other. I paused, holding my breath. Without hesitating, she stepped right on, deftly balancing herself in between the baby gear. At the bottom, I heard a small child calling her- a small child who had ridden down first by himself and was now waiting for his mommy to follow.
I have never felt like such a wimp in my life. I might as well go back to the little leagues of motherhood. Or at least find an elevator.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.