On Saturday Night, a Poor Substitute for a Passion Pit

Like other couples caught up in the glamour of rinsing glops of oatmeal out of a toddler’s hair, my wife and I try to remember to make time for each other. Each Saturday night, we have a standing date, something to keep the embers of romance glowing.

So let me tell you how we spent a recent Saturday night: swimming in a ball pit at our local McDonald’s, one of those pens that a mass of squiggly, wriggly, giggling kids are forever jumping in after they chow down their Happy Meals.

We were not happy.

Rather, we were on a mission.

Our woeful tale actually begins earlier in the day. Scott and Andree, our neighbors and good friends, were at the hospital--Andree having just delivered their third child--so we offered to take the two older children for the day, boys ages 4 and 2, along with our children, Kayla, 4, and Bobby, 19 months.

The kids wanted to go to McDonald’s for lunch.

The adults were not particularly enthusiastic about this suggestion. The problem was that it was the last day of Passover and, while we don’t observe the kosher dietary rules, both Laura and I were trying diligently to avoid bread.

Faced with the prospect of child mutiny, however, the adults caved. Up the hill we went to the McDonald’s on Artesia Boulevard in Manhattan Beach.

After a round of Happy Meals, the kids jumped into the ball pit.

A few minutes later, as she was getting out, Kayla informed me that she had dropped a ring into the pit. I didn’t think much of it; she’s currently dabbling in cheap costume jewelry. As we were piling into the car, I told Laura about the ring.

“Oh, goodness!” she exclaimed. Except she didn’t say goodness. She said a four-letter word, in front of both 4-year-olds. They blinked.

*

Laura hustled the kids into their car seats, then dashed back inside the restaurant, pausing just long enough to tell me that it was a real amethyst ring with enormous sentimental value. Laura and her sister, Lisa, had bought it in Europe 10 years ago as a present for Pearl, the nanny who had helped raise them both and who was now doing the same for Kayla and Bobby.

Pearl had given it to Kayla to wear as a special treat. Kayla had given it to me earlier in the day to hold, then asked for it back just before she jumped in the pit. Who knew it was real?

The manager told Laura to come back after the restaurant had closed for the day. Then we could root through the ball pit and try to find the ring.

And so, at 10:45 that night, Laura and I reported for duty.

The night manager, Martin Gonzalez, couldn’t have been nicer. He was, however, skeptical about our chances.

On average, he said, parents show up twice a month to muck through the pit in search of stuff. Hardly ever, Gonzalez said, do they find the object of their desperation.

Undeterred, Laura and I jumped in. Well, actually, we crawled in, through a tunnel designed for little bodies, then dropped through a hole into the pit.

Our first strategy involved throwing all the blue, orange, red, green and yellow balls out of the pit, hoping to see through to the canvas underneath.

This was a loser. There were too many balls--so many, Gonzalez said later, that it takes a cleaning crew two hours to clear them.

On to Plan B: We dropped to our hands and knees. Then we made like snowplows, clearing balls with one hand while sweeping the canvas underneath with the other. If we couldn’t see the ring, we figured, maybe we’d feel it.

This went on for 15 or 20 minutes and multiple trips around the pit. We turned up hair clips, Happy Meal toys, Band-Aids and some orange thing that looked like a seashell . . . but no ring.

Sighing, we got out of the pen. I was prepared to admit defeat and to endure all manner of indignities at the stupid husband trick I had perpetrated by allowing my daughter to lose the ring.

Laura, however, had one last gambit. She dropped to the floor and peered under the canvas.

I was skeptical. The canvas wasn’t porous. How could a ring fall through?

“There it is!” she cried.

And there, improbably, it was--directly under the center of the canvas.

Gonzalez opened the secret zipper on the side of the pit and Laura crawled through, then flopped onto her tummy and grabbed for the ring. It was just beyond her reach.

Super-husband to the rescue. Redemption was suddenly within my reach. I fell to the floor, then inched forward on my hands and knees. The ring was mine!

Afterward, I was strongly advised by my bride to ponder the steps I could take in the future to ensure a more romantic Saturday night. It won’t be difficult. But in addition, this story comes with a moral attached.

Gentlemen:

Keep all jewelry away from your young daughters.

And always look on the floor before you leap into the pit.