The Exhausted Dad: The splash pad/car ride conundrum

An unexpected splash pad led to some next-level parental navigation.

The scenario in brief: My wife and I took the kids to a playground located about 17 minutes from our house. We hadn’t been to this particular playground in a few years but the two oldest kids, 12 and 9, fondly remembered its collection of slides and climbing structures.

When we arrived, everything appeared as we remembered except for a new addition: A modest-sized, operational splash pad. Kids love splash pads, especially on a typical scorching day in the Inland Northwest.

It took about 10 minutes at his park before the first kid asked the Question of the Day:

“Can we go into the splash pad?”

At a park closer to home, the answer would almost always be “Yes.” But we were 17 minutes from the house, and we didn’t plan for any sort of water-based activity. No swimsuits. No change of clothes. No towels.

The first kid to ask, my oldest daughter, had quickly lost interest in the playground she romanced in her head (being 12 and on the cusp of “being too old” for things might have factored into her early exit).

I explained the situation: No towels. No change of clothes. A 17-minute drive home.

Her: “I won’t complain about being wet, I promise!”

Me: “Think about it for minute. Do you want to jump through the splash pad now for immediate satisfaction and then sit uncomfortably in the car on the way home? Because you HATE sitting in wet clothes.”

She thought for a minute. She really gave it a good ponder.

Me: “What’s better for you in the short term and what’s better in the long term?”

Her (after another minute): “I still want to go in the splash pad. Really. I swear I won’t complain about being wet!”

Regardless of what she said, I KNEW she’ll complain about sitting in wet clothes. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to act like I didn’t believe her.

Me: “Look, I know YOU won’t complain, but what happens when your siblings see you go into the splash pad. They’re going to want to go in the splash pad too. And they’re going to get soaked. They’re going to get cold. And we don’t have ANY towels or extra clothes and there’s 17 minutes between this park and home.”

Her: “Oh, come on! They won’t complain!”

I stared at her in silence for a few seconds.

Her: “Fine! They’ll complain and it will be horrible.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Within another minute the other three kids charged over to us and asked to jump through the splash pad. I ran through the scenario again and received the following responses:

My 9-year-old son: “Nevermind, I don’t want to sit in my wet clothes.”

My 8-year-old daughter: “I never complain! I’m going in and you can’t stop me!”

My 6-year-old son: “Can we get some ice cream?”

In the end, nobody went into the splash pad. I had to promise Dutch Bros. smoothies to keep the peace. That’s right, I’d rather spend $20 than sit in a car with kids wearing wet clothes. Being a parent is expensive.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student and parent to four kids, ages 6-12. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.