"Well, sir, where should we dump this batch of nuclear waste? Playground?"

Abbie is still sick, and wearing my patience thinner than the Cubs playoff hopes. Naturally, I’m doing the only responsible thing I can do: Head to child-packed shopping malls. Not so much for the mall part because I hate malls. I hate almost everything about them: The crowds, the crass commercialism, the Gymboree stores. I do enjoy their playgrounds, though.

Mall playgrounds are bliss for children 42 inches and under. They exist within the perfectly climate-controlled weather inside a mall, allowing for year-round play without the need of mittens, sunscreen, or bug repellent. They’re extremely child safe. No pea gravel here, they use heavy padding on all bumpable surfaces meaning Abbie can fall repeatedly while trying to walk without being hurt. Of course, Abbie falls on concrete repeatedly while trying to walk without being hurt so maybe I’m being a little overcautious. They lack anything smaller than a book for Abbie to shove in her mouth, and I know I’m not being overcautious with that. They have close access to shops selling all sorts of sugar-infused foods, though that’s more of a plus for me right now.

I used to think that malls had playgrounds to indoctrinate children, to teach them at the earliest ages that malls are fun places to be so they can grow up to be teenagers and maybe even young adults who spend obscene amounts of time and money at the mall. I now realize that theory gives way too much credit to the malls’ marketing departments, but I’m hyperaware of commercial messages*. These playgrounds exist to attract parents, who generally have much more disposable income than their young children, to the mall and hopefully buy something. I’ve outsmarted the local mall the last couple of days by bringing Abbie to the nearest mall’s playground without buying anything. I hope she spread her cold to a minimal number of children, but if she did infect a significant chunk of Des Moines’s youngest citizens, like I said, my patience was wearing thin.

Abbie loves these playgrounds. She can toddle by herself, exploring the heavily padded, climbable objects, trying to grab the attention of complete strangers, and looking for the playground exit to explore the rest of the mall. Being a stay-at-home child, this is also about the only opportunity she has to interact with other children, which I feel is important to prevent her from growing up and exhibiting weird, anti-social behavior like Tom Cruise.

Of course, not every mall offers playgrounds. I entered a swankier (i.e. more western) Des Moines mall and asked guest services if they had a playground. The clerk said no, but she cheerfully offered to rent a stroller to me. “Gee, Abbie, sorry you can’t run around, but how about you sit while I push you around? It’ll be just like you’re back in the car! Without the risk of fresh air!” See if I let my kid spread germs around their mall again.

* That’s one reason I don’t let her watch much television; I’ll be darned if I’m going to buy her stuff because commercials packed around Dora the Explorer brainwashed her into believing she needs overpriced toys and snacky treats, especially when sporting event advertisers who make fine products like sports drinks and athletic apparel could use my money so much more.