How Is This My Life? (A True 911 Playground Story)
Just when I thought the week was finally winding down, things getting back to normal, life starting to behave again — I end up at a playground calling 911.
So let me back up.
I did the good mama deed and took my girl to the playground like she asked. Actually, she didn't really ask so much as announce it like it was already on the family calendar. And I went along with it because that's what we do.
We went to one near home. She was loving it. She's two, so everything is an adventure waiting to happen. Up and down the slides, climbing on everything.
She was the smallest child there by far. A few older ones came and went, and of course she's chasing behind them, excited for a playmate. Trying to give her mother a minor heart attack in the process.
But she was loving it. So I'm doing my best to let her have as much as she can handle while keeping us both alive.
Found our way to the swings, just us for a while then out of nowhere, this boy shows up — nine years old, we found out later — and decides he's going to hop into the baby swing and demonstrate how you can "swing yourself without getting pushed."
I looked at him like, sir... you are way too big for that.
And I didn't just think it — I said it. Out loud.
He wasn't fazed. Said he's done it before. Admitted he got stuck before, or something like that, but got out. Didn't get into the details.
Red flag? Absolutely. I warned him several times. Did I stop him? No.
Why? Because I'm not his mother.
This is America. The 'selective' MYOB capital of the world.
I'm not here to start anything. I need to go home with my baby, and getting into playground drama — imagine — wasn't part of the plan.
So I watched him wedge himself into that pink baby swing.
It was all fun and games until, a few minutes pass. We've moved on to the slides — remember, I'm chasing a two-year-old. When his sister — yes she was there too... and tried to help, even getting on all fours to be a stool... though at that time I still thought this was a joke — she starts whispering asking me to call the "cops," and I'm thinking... wait, is this really happening?
She spins about a minute or two and then goes over to the only other adults at the playground — a couple who'd just arrived with their own kids. She walks up all cautious and asks,"Can you call the cops?"
Well now I know it's happening.
They speak Spanish and didn't catch what she was asking right away, so now I'm translating while trying to protect the daredevil climbing up a slide.
"Where are his parents?" they ask.
Good question. Excellent question.
Now I'm trying to explain the situation, keep my child from hurling herself off playground equipment, and decide whether to jump in or stay completely out of this mess.
At that time they had decided to stay out this mess. But on the way out they checked on him and now I'm a translator again.
Three adults. Three kids (mine was not equipped). We all gathered around this swing. Pushing, pulling, twisting. Nothing worked. That swing had claimed its victim and wasn't letting go.
So I made the call.
To 911.
Wouldn't be doing this if I'd just went home. Would it even have happened?
Because a child was stuck in a baby swing. Even if I'm not his mother.
Now, my child has decided it's the perfect time to go shoeless (she still had her socks) and test my multitasking abilities. Which is hilarious because she never knows how to take them off at home.
I thought this stuff only happened on TV. Turns out it was now my Thursday afternoon reality. (Should have gone home.)
So now I'm translating between a panicked sister, confused adults, and a 911 dispatcher while trying to corral and reshoe my little human.
The dispatcher was professional, but I could hear the pause when I explained the situation. Like she was mentally preparing herself for the paperwork on this one. And then me making sure to clarify that I was NOT the parent of the stuck child — mine was definitely not stuck. They ask a lot of questions, including my name, and now I'm tied to this incident forever 😩.
First, come the firefighters, small truck but the sirens still work. They tried different angles, coordinated pulling. No luck. I looked at them like... my guy, we already tried that.
Instinct was to start directing traffic i.e. telling them what to do but then I remembered, they are the professionals and I can don't need that stress, and I stayed in my lane. Smart me.
Then the police showed up. More attempts. Still nothing.
Then the ambulance arrived because at this point, the boy was just hanging there, his toes barely touching the ground, getting increasingly uncomfortable and probably rethinking his life choices.
They brought over a gurney so he could stand while they worked.
Eventually, they had to cut the swing to free him. Heavy-duty tools (one tool). Multiple first responders. All for one boy who thought he could outsmart a baby swing.
The whole time, he's refusing to give anyone his mom's phone number because — and I quote — "I don't want to get in trouble."
Sir.
His little sister and I shared a look, not our first that day. You could tell she wasn't even surprised.
She gave me the number. I called mom. No answer.
The officer tried next and got through. They had that conversation.
By the time it was over, there were around seven emergency personnel, multiple vehicles, and one happy toddler.
I asked if I'd done my civic duty and could head home (really wasn't sure what to do in these situations). They said yes. So I packed up my child, shoes restored, and went home.
Thanks to the all-seeing eye that is Google Maps, I know we were there for 1 hour and 12 minutes. So in 1 hour I chased a toddler, witnessed a regrettable life choice, translated for strangers, called the police, witnessed a rescue, called somebody's mama and had everybody's shoes on the feet they came with.
The whole 2-minute drive home I kept thinking: How is this my life?
This wasn't traumatic. It wasn't heavy. It was just... absurd.
Plus, I found out they live on the street behind mine. Of course. 🙃
Hopefully, that boy learned his lesson about swing physics and appropriate equipment sizing. Hopefully, my child never tries similar nonsense. And hopefully, next week is magnificently, wonderfully boring.
Fingers crossed.