Soft play. A survivors tale...

Prisoner's log, 8.06am. Pickles informs me while we are getting dressed that I have promised to take her to soft play after school. I have no recolection of making this promise or the conversation leading to it, however she is so convincing I am starting to doubt myself. Lets face it, my memory hasn't been the best recently...or ever...I reluctantly agree to take her thinking to myself that I can get her and Puds some dinner there so at least I don't have to cook. May as well try and make the best of this.

...

Prisoner's log, 3.30pm. Puds and I collect Pickles from school where upon seeing my face, instead of a "hello", I get a forceful reminder that we are going to soft play. I get the impression there is an "or else" that isn't spoken aloud.

Prisoner's log, 3.46pm. I have decided to drive to a soft play in the next town that I know has a fairly good layout for keeping an eye on both children when they inevitably bolt in opposite directions. When we are five minutes from our destination, Pickles announces that this was in fact not the soft play she had in mind, she'd had her heart set on one that was a half an hour drive in the opposite direction. Apparently I was just supposed to know this psychically.

Prisoner's log, 3,48pm. Pickles has pulled out all of the stops for her latest performance. She is heartbroken. Devastated. Life will never be the same again. Puds looks at me in the car mirror from his seat and helpfully says "Oh no!". Thanks for the input little man. Oh no indeed!

Prisoner's log, 3.49pm. I have made up some bullshit about the other soft play being closed. I think it's worked. We've agreed to go along with my original plan, however Pickles firmly tells me that she won't be having fun.

Prisoner's log, 4.00pm. We enter the building and I spot a birthday party full of kids hopped up on sugar. Oh joy.

Prisoner's log, 4.05pm. I have put Puds in the toddler area and Pickles has run off to mingle with the feral party children. I take the minute of distraction to run to the food counter to order their dinner. Pickles has demanded a "plain pizza". Not cheese and tomato as that's yucky. Plain.

Prisoner's log, 4,06pm. They've run out of pizza. Shit.

Prisoner's log, 4.08pm. I inform Pickles of the lack of pizza and that I have made the executive decision of sausages instead. I am treated to a five minute lecture of why pizza is better than sausages.

Prisoner's log, 4.13pm. I realise I haven't spotted Puds all this time and I should probably go and find him before I'm put on some sort of list for neglect.

Prisoner's log, 4.14pm. I find Puds in the ball pit licking all the balls and then throwing them out towards the tables. Great. Thank God he's up to date with his vaccinations. I briefly wonder if an antibacterial spray for the tongue has been invented yet?

Prisoner's log, 4.29pm. Dinner has arrived at our table. Except they have only given me one portion and not the two I ordered. No time to order a new one now so I just ask for a second plate and split it between them both. Crisis averted although I get the side eye from Pickles when she notices me taking one of her sausages. Both of them say they are finished after only a few mouthfuls. Puds spills an entire cup of orange squash over his plate, the table and the floor. The food counter staff inform me they've run out of napkins. We move tables. Who's stupid idea was it to get dinner?

Prisoner's log, 4.49pm. This floor is really sticky. I mean, seriously sticky. A look at the soles of Pickle and Puds socks confirms the worst. So pleased I have my own designated pair of slippers* I keep in my car specifically for soft play!

Prisoner's log, 4.52pm. Have discovered Puds is afraid of heights. There is a clear plastic floor on one of the levels, that Pickles loves to lie flat on and look down. Puds is very hestiant and repeats "Oh no" a lot when standing on it. He shouts at me angrily when I double over laughing at him.

Prisoner's log, 4.57pm. Same reaction to the giant plastic bubble for kids to sit in three stories up. Although he does forget his fear and become very angry at the staff member clearing the plates of discarded food from our table, banging on the bubble, shouting and waving his arms around at her. He may not want it, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone else to have it either!

Prisoner's log, 5.07pm. I am forced to go down the helter skelter. I stupidly wore a synthetic top so I see blue sparks flying from my toes as I slide down. My hair is now so static I look like Beetlejuice.

Prisoner's log, 5.09pm. One of the party kids has vomited in the area with the monkey bars and giant bouncy balls. Puds instantly finds new fascination with this area despite previously not giving two hoots about it.

Prisoner's log, 5.15pm. The party kids are summoned to their designated area for more sugar. One of them runs over my foot in a Cosy Coupe in their desperation to get to the front. I contemplate suing for damages, but fear he is an uninsured driver.

Prisoner's log, 5.16pm. Pickles tries to gatecrash the party. Manage to pull her away just in time.

Prisoner's log, 5.18pm. Pickles is whining that she's hungry and asks when we are going to have dinner. Sod. Off.

Prisoner's log, 5.25pm. Pickles and Puds have barricaded themselves in the toddler area and are refusing to come out. They have taken all the soft blocks in the shape of food in as "supplies" and Pickles tells me they are staying forever. At present I see no downside.

Prisoner's log, 5.35pm. Puds "forgets" how to use a slide and throws himself down one head first. While having cuddles he wipes his nose on my shoulder.

Prisoner's log, 5.45pm. I give Pickles a 10 minute warning of our departure. She bolts to the top of the climbing frame and waves at me smugly. "Can't catch me!" she defiantly shouts. I briefly consider leaving without her and raising Puds as an only child.

Prisoner's log, 5.55pm. I have persuaded Pickles to put on her shoes and leave without a fuss with the promise of jelly babies when we get home. Puds is nowhere to be found.

Prisoner's log, 5.57pm. Puds is found halfway up a helter skelter. How the bloody hell he managed to get there I'll never know, but I'm mildly impressed.

Prisoner's log, 6.02pm. We are finally back in the car and on our way home.

Prisoner's log, 6.08pm. We reach the dual carriageway and get stuck in rush hour traffic. A 20 minute drive takes an hour. Pickles reminds me about the promised jelly babies every two minutes.

...

Prisoner's log, 9.00pm. A large gin and tonic is poured and downed.

*Credit for the "soft play slippers" idea goes to the random lady with the grey and white spotty slippers I once spotted in soft play a few years ago. You, my dear, are a friggin' genius and have saved me so many pairs of disgusting socks!