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What We Know Now

It was a Dora mat.  Just a plastic rectangle with holes for the water to shoot through.  Potentially tons of fun we noticed, as the kids on the packaging were having a blast.  And so we bought it–fifteen bucks of pseudo fun on its way to our backyard. Only our backyard was nappy at the time with more weeds than grass, and since the idea of watering those weeds seemed like a waste, we hadn’t.  Which made our yard like straw and only attractive to yellow jackets.  Hardly ideal for our new fun mat.  Which is why I’d suggested to my husband that we put the mat on the concrete slab outside our back door.  No bees.  No splintered feet.  Easy to run through.  

And which is why when we think about it even today, we still slap ourselves and unconsciously replay the movie in our minds we wish wasn’t there… If you were here, we’d let you slap us, too.

Our 2 1/2 year old daughter took her turn through the now wet plastic mat shooting water out of its squares, only she slipped.  Her legs went up and her head whacked backwards onto the concrete.  And she laid there, still working up the air to even cry.  We looked at each other, and it was instantaneous…we LOATHED ourselves.  We depised whatever was in us that had eluded common sense when we needed it most.  Concrete. Slippery wet plastic.  Child running through.  Who does that?   She would not be the only one needing healing.

Our daughter is fine. She’s more than fine.  Six years old and growing like a sunflower.

And us?  We’re fine, too.  Occasionally misty-eyed about the Dora mat.   But wiser…

One can hope.


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