Me versus the rocket

When I was younger, one of our favorite weekend-summer afternoon adventures was going to Moorehead Park. And since it was only about 20 minutes from the farm, we were pretty frequent visitors. Mom would usually pack a picnic lunch, we would take a short hike and then tire ourselves on the playground equipment. We were especially in love with the rocket. It was this gigantic, metal rocket that you could climb through and up to the top, and then slide down. And when I was home last week, Libba and I decided to introduce Taylor to the coolest playground apparatus of all time.

But the rocket wasn’t so cool this time around. In fact, it was down-right mean. And I know that equipment like this isn’t meant for giant adults to play in, but, come on, I wasn’t gonna let baby T go up solo.

You can’t see it in this photo, but right about here was when I hit my head so hard against the upper landing the entire rocket shook. And a stream of non-appropriate blogger language followed. Which resulted in a mother-daughter melt down and Taylor screaming, screaming, screaming until she got out of the rocket.

And after taking a moment to nurse my concussion, we realized that the only way to get down from the rocket is to take the slide.

Which, of course, soothed Taylor’s nerves. What can I say, my girl LOVES slides.

I, on the other hand, had a nasty headache and a bit of a complex against my old child hood friend.

Stupid rocket.