It's not quite a Chilean mine rescue, but...

We went to Devonport last weekend.  That's on the North Shore, across the harbour.  We took the ferry and that was was Big Fun for the little guys.  We watched the horse-drawn carriage going by (accompanied by Arram's delighted squealing), poked around in a used bookstore, saw some doggies (more squealing) and had brunch at a nice little cafe.

Then we played on the playground.  They had a big jungle gym, with lots of stairs and ladders and tunnels and slides.  The little guys could climb high-high-high up, and with the way it was designed, they were guaranteed not to fall off.  Both boys had lots of fun clambering around, although Amiri naturally went higher and faster than Arram.  Arram tried so hard to keep up with his big brother.  He eventually made his way all the way up to the third level, where the only way down was a big, twisty, intimidating slide.

That's when our poor little pumpkin got scared.  He just gave up, sat in the middle of the big plastic tube and wailed pitifully.  I stood below him, watching, and trying to coax him into moving toward the stairs where he could get down.  He refused to move, and his wailing soon turned into panicked screaming.  Meanwhile, a whole line of older children eager for a go on the slide had developed behind him.  'Baby, move!'  'Baby, come out!'

So I climbed up the awkward stairs and chicken-walked my way through the series of tubes, and gently elbowed my way through the line of impatient children until I got to my little guy, who by this time was frantic.  He clung to me like a baby monkey and ground his teary, snotty face into my shirt.  We reversed direction and made it back to solid ground.   One more reassuring hug, and I put him down.

And where did he go?  Right back up the stairs.