Today my one of my big parental fears was realized; my kid was in trouble, and I couldn't help her. Let me explain. We met friends at McDonald's for lunch, and the kids were climbing on the Playland structure like crazed monkeys. Nan was apprehensive about coming down to eat, but my friend's five-year-old son helped to guide her down. We ate, and the kids went back to their play. After 20 minutes or so, I asked Alex to go and guide Nan back down again. He helped her down from the very highest level, but she landed hard on her butt on the descent. This shook her confidence in his helping abilities, so she started to cry for me. From the top of the crazed hamster-maze of the playstructure. There is no way an average adult could squiggle her way up through the tiny spaces, and I particularly couldn't navigate these platforms. It was heartbreaking-- she stuck her fingers through the protective netting, and screamed for me. And all I could do was flail helplessly below her, pleading with her to follow Alex. She just clung harder to the netting and cried like her limbs were being severed. All the other parents looked on with sympathy, but there wasn't anything any adult could do. Finally, finally, a sweet seven-year-old boy offered to go up and help her. He was just big enough so she felt comfortable with him picking her up. He gently lifted her and carried down each level, as she wailed for me. It was the longest ten minutes ever. It seems silly and melodramatic now, but I can't describe the terrible feeling of her needing me, and me not being able to come to her aid. When she finally got down, she clung to me like a monkey. And I was hanging on to her for dear life, too. The whole way home she spoke about "the SCAREDY place". She was eager for her nap, and she slept for a long time. She didn't need me to sit in her room today-- but I needed to sit there for awhile.