Texas, I first found the proliferation of splashpads a bit odd, but I get it. It's HOT and no mom wants to go through the hassle of getting in the pool with her children. We'd much rather sit in the shade, sip lemonade (or something stronger) and watch our little ones spray each other in the face with the water guns.
Upon our arrival to the park, my friend said, "Why isn't the water on?" to which I replied, "Oh, I think there's a switch somewhere," to which she replied, "but there are kids running all over the playground in bathing suits."
She was right.
Our little boys are much too young to understand that the pick-up truck over yonder contained a city worker, using more than will, to start it up so the gaggle of sunburned suburban moms would just GET OFF him.
Our boys screamed and squealed and flailed in their little shorts and mock turtleneck swim outfits (why do we dress little boys like 1930 female sunbathers?) trying to reach the place where water was promised to freely flow.
At one point, a loud hiss came from the splashpad and my little boy, blinded by a frenzy that only shooting water can bring, ran from me to the other end of the playground platform on which he stood, missed the first step down, and rolled down each subsequent step until he reached the wood chips with a thud.
He cried, but kept one hopeful eye on the dry splashpad.
For 90 minutes we played on the scorchingly hot playground equipment and distracted the boys from the disgusting standing water that they would have gladly subbed in for a working splashpad.
Needless to say, the water never appeared and as we retreated I felt a like a defeated Confederate soldier leaving Gettysburg for home. (Being a Yankee I identify more with the Union side but we live in Texas now where "Yankee" is sometimes a derogatory term. I don't understand this since the Northeast is the center of the universe, but hey, when in Rome...)
I wanted a splashpad on a Friday afternoon, not defeat. Ok, in this scenario I actually don't care about defeat as much as the effort I wasted to get my little boy in a swim diaper, a 1930s style swim outfit, a hat, and sunblock; get a towel; bring water and snacks; get out the door without the dog; and then tackle him every three seconds as he ran for the mosquito filled water like he's a duck. He does love to quack; I might be onto something.
I mean really, splashpad, don't do this to