The rain and cold is constant here, so you’ll forgive me for slipping into a moment of desperation. I took my crew to the McDonald’s playplace for lunch yesterday.

Now, the 10 times that I’ve taken them there, they’ve returned home 10 times with a cold exactly three days later. I reasoned away my apprehension with the fact that school was in session and the germs from the previous night had probably since fettered away. I figured that if I was going to chance it, now’d be a good time.

I was wrong.

Apparently, it was Mothers of Pre-school Twins Day (who all, incidentally, had various forms and consistencies of “stuff” oozing out of their eyes and noses). But before I could make a last-ditch sales pitch to try boring-ole’-Wendy’s-that-doesn’t-even-have-a-playground, we were in. I placed our Happy Meal order and cursed my memory for not remembering to bring reading material. I thought it was going to be a lonnnnng two hours.

I was wrong.

There was plenty of entertainment. For starters, there was a nice assortment of soccer moms chatting within earshot. I was able to educate myself on what the voting public considers “moral values” without even having to watch an episode of Oprah. I like economizing my time. It was kind of like Dr. Phil, minus the commercials.

Before long, the mom’s were completely engrossed in swapping juicy husband-bashing stories, so the kids were left to themselves. Not a good thing. Even my friend, Johnny, from a previous blog, was there. He was the one rolling on the floor licking it.

Then, there was the nice ole’ Grandpa who gave his granddaughter a quarter to work the elaborate Happy Meal Express machine that smokes, lights up, and spits out a handful of M & M’s all for the price of a mere quarter. I admit that I was surprised that you could get anything nowadays for a quarter, but alas, it was a smokescreen. The thing didn’t work, so Grandpa sacrificed another quarter to the contraption. (Kinda reminded me of our government…) Of course, the machine wasn’t going to produce without a fight, so Grandpa shook, kicked, and punched the thing until four M & M’s plunked into his hand.

Now, my three-year-old, Annalise, was standing nearby to watch the show up close, and Grandpa opened his hand, offering her a piece of the spoil. She looked at him like the ax-murdering, child-abducting, kid molester that we’d taught all our kids to view strangers who offer candy. It was a proud moment. She didn’t take the bait.

So, next time you’re tempted to need a little TV for entertainment, hop down to your local McDonald’s playplace where hours of happy, fruitful, and productive play can be found. You can never have enough precious, plastic Happy Meal toys, you know. And, while you’re there, send my regards to Johnny.

[Update: it is now three days later, and my six-year-old is laying on the couch coughing. Sorry, McDonald's. Next time we're going to boring-ole'-Wendy's.....]