Fair Fiascos
Sunday morning. A thing of beauty, but for what the cop and I have dubbed "fair hangover."
It started as a simple plan. Every year we go to the county fair. It's a tradition, it furthers our appreciation of small town living. Plus, about a quarter of the entries are by Auntie or our oldest boy. Seriously, there's not many livestock areas you can wander past that the teenager doesn't have at least one competitor entered in, which adds to the "rustic charm" of the fair experience since loosely translated it means we will be spending time with every form of livestock known to man and I will not have nearly enough hand sanitizer to keep me sane throughout. This year, with the new schedule, I decided it was time to try an evening fair experience. This was common for me as a single and with my older kids, but since the addition of the wild boys it has been a virtual impossibility. This means that for several years now I have missed what has become a favorite family past time - the rodeo.
That's right, the liberal is a rodeo lover. Even during my seven years of vegetarianism, non-leather wearing, tongue pierced hair dyed freakishness I STILL went to the rodeo. Can't help it, it's like a drug for me. But the wild boys had never been, and neither had the cop. And I felt compelled to induct them to one of my passions, a bandstand filled with rednecks, rodeo clowns, mutton busting and the beauty of bronco and bull riding (sure, sure, and roping and barrel racing, but face it folks we all know why we really go).
In years past we have gone to the fair mid day. This is great on a kid's schedule. However, since fair grounds virtually never have trees or any real forms of shade, and since all fairgrounds are located approximately 20 feet from the sun itself, it becomes a bit of a drain for parents. Not to mention every ride is heated to butt blistering temperatures and anything that spins in that temperature virtually guarantees whirling vomit. So I was thrilled when this year we decided we would hit the fair in late afternoon, check the exhibits, hit the rides, and then watch...the rodeo. Huge sighs of mom pleasure.
My plan was to convince the wild boys to rest quietly during the morning, maybe even nap a little, while the cop slept off a graveyard shift. Even I, having typed this, cannot contain snorts of disbelief. My plan would have stood a chance had Auntie and Grandma not slipped and told the boys they'd be going to fair. So, instead of a quiet morning it was a morning of wild, fair inspired wall bouncing. I contemplated the sleeper hold, but I've not yet perfected it. I attempted the Vulcan neck pinch, but they just developed eye twitches and seemed to run faster. And so the cop woke up a little earlier than anticipated, and out to the fair we went.
Upon arrival we immediately ventured into livestock pens. Immediately. Sheep, goats, chickens, rabbit, check, check, check, check. Hand sanitizer? Um, hand sanitizer?!? HAND SANITIZER!!!! Huge sighs from the teenager. But seriously, my OCD must be acknowledged. Otherwise it starts feeling lonely and invites other mental illnesses in to play and I just don't have time to listen to any MORE voices... A break for drinks (with no lids, because golly folks why would we put lids on drinks we know your small children will be holding and spilling within ten seconds when they take off chasing free range chickens). Exhibit halls filled with photos by Auntie, Uncle and other friends. Jewelry by Auntie. Bonsai exhibits to calm the cop, then on to the puppet show.
That's right, the puppet show. Thumbelina, in marionette form. This totally rocks, right? The wild boys and their cousins were way engrossed. Sure, Gabe freaked out a tiny bit when he thought the toad ate Thumbelina. I think it's chivalrous when a kid threatens to storm the stage to save the heroine though, so I remained unphased. But within minutes of the end of the show technical difficulties (loosely translated, since before they turned off their microphones the crowd was treated to "oh God, you kicked something...well this is the worst possible situation...I guess we'll need to make an announcement") froze the production and we were all turned away sans closure. Brutal. Several children cried. The cop appeared to be crying tears of joy.
On to the amusement park. Being late afternoon/early evening, it had cooled to approximately 150 degrees. The reek of body odor and hot vomit loosely covered with sawdust greeted us as our children outlined a game plan that would entail several hours of carny hell for two parents in law enforcement. And while Gavin went on everything he was tall enough for and could con a cousin into accompanying him on, Gabe spent his time pointing out the perfect rides, making it to the front of the line, and then running away screaming and crying in terror. Eventually he decided the gigantic slide was ok, and so the entire family took turns climbing 8 billion steps to shoot down a slide that lasted about 1.5 seconds. Yay.
Eventually tickets ran out and it was time to get food and watch the show. The boys were supplied with pizza, which Gavin inhaled and Gabe sat on, and the show began. Gavin watched in glee, and if a thought bubble could have been visualized above his head it undoubtedly would have involved images of him riding on top of his cozy coupe while Gabe drove, chasing down the poor neighbor dog to attempt to either rope or wrestle it to the ground. Somewhere along the line Gavin was provided by Auntie and Grandma with a funnel cake. After that his words blurred together and he actually just stood by the banister at the front of the bleachers twitching and jumping. Grandpa refused to hold him anymore, saying something to Auntie about this being "her doing" and passed the little sugar blur off to her for supervision. Gabe passed out cold after yelling at us repeatedly for being too noisy. But I actually got to watch the entire rodeo. And it was bliss.
Gavin, having lost all capacity for quiet speech due to the combination of sugar, adrenaline and exhaustion, ran a commentary on the way back to the car that entertained dozens of people around us and involved pointing out every pile of horse poop and then obsessing over the muddy parking lot which could possibly contain poop we would be powerless to avoid stepping in. While we anticipated the wild boys would pass out cold on the 45 minute drive home they actually held out until 10 minutes from home. And when they were tucked in at 11:30 we thought to ourselves we might get to sleep in on Sunday.
HA!!!! And hence, the fair hangover. Because while we did not have alcohol, we still woke up congested from dust, with screaming headaches from muscle strains from metal bleachers and the giant slide, and sore as if we had actually ridden bulls ourselves. And the wild boys? Eager to report on the events they thought we needed reminding of less than 12 hours later. At the crack of dawn.
Fair may be a younger person's sport. Not that we're giving up that easy. After all, we have a year to recover.
It started as a simple plan. Every year we go to the county fair. It's a tradition, it furthers our appreciation of small town living. Plus, about a quarter of the entries are by Auntie or our oldest boy. Seriously, there's not many livestock areas you can wander past that the teenager doesn't have at least one competitor entered in, which adds to the "rustic charm" of the fair experience since loosely translated it means we will be spending time with every form of livestock known to man and I will not have nearly enough hand sanitizer to keep me sane throughout. This year, with the new schedule, I decided it was time to try an evening fair experience. This was common for me as a single and with my older kids, but since the addition of the wild boys it has been a virtual impossibility. This means that for several years now I have missed what has become a favorite family past time - the rodeo.
That's right, the liberal is a rodeo lover. Even during my seven years of vegetarianism, non-leather wearing, tongue pierced hair dyed freakishness I STILL went to the rodeo. Can't help it, it's like a drug for me. But the wild boys had never been, and neither had the cop. And I felt compelled to induct them to one of my passions, a bandstand filled with rednecks, rodeo clowns, mutton busting and the beauty of bronco and bull riding (sure, sure, and roping and barrel racing, but face it folks we all know why we really go).
In years past we have gone to the fair mid day. This is great on a kid's schedule. However, since fair grounds virtually never have trees or any real forms of shade, and since all fairgrounds are located approximately 20 feet from the sun itself, it becomes a bit of a drain for parents. Not to mention every ride is heated to butt blistering temperatures and anything that spins in that temperature virtually guarantees whirling vomit. So I was thrilled when this year we decided we would hit the fair in late afternoon, check the exhibits, hit the rides, and then watch...the rodeo. Huge sighs of mom pleasure.
My plan was to convince the wild boys to rest quietly during the morning, maybe even nap a little, while the cop slept off a graveyard shift. Even I, having typed this, cannot contain snorts of disbelief. My plan would have stood a chance had Auntie and Grandma not slipped and told the boys they'd be going to fair. So, instead of a quiet morning it was a morning of wild, fair inspired wall bouncing. I contemplated the sleeper hold, but I've not yet perfected it. I attempted the Vulcan neck pinch, but they just developed eye twitches and seemed to run faster. And so the cop woke up a little earlier than anticipated, and out to the fair we went.
Upon arrival we immediately ventured into livestock pens. Immediately. Sheep, goats, chickens, rabbit, check, check, check, check. Hand sanitizer? Um, hand sanitizer?!? HAND SANITIZER!!!! Huge sighs from the teenager. But seriously, my OCD must be acknowledged. Otherwise it starts feeling lonely and invites other mental illnesses in to play and I just don't have time to listen to any MORE voices... A break for drinks (with no lids, because golly folks why would we put lids on drinks we know your small children will be holding and spilling within ten seconds when they take off chasing free range chickens). Exhibit halls filled with photos by Auntie, Uncle and other friends. Jewelry by Auntie. Bonsai exhibits to calm the cop, then on to the puppet show.
That's right, the puppet show. Thumbelina, in marionette form. This totally rocks, right? The wild boys and their cousins were way engrossed. Sure, Gabe freaked out a tiny bit when he thought the toad ate Thumbelina. I think it's chivalrous when a kid threatens to storm the stage to save the heroine though, so I remained unphased. But within minutes of the end of the show technical difficulties (loosely translated, since before they turned off their microphones the crowd was treated to "oh God, you kicked something...well this is the worst possible situation...I guess we'll need to make an announcement") froze the production and we were all turned away sans closure. Brutal. Several children cried. The cop appeared to be crying tears of joy.
On to the amusement park. Being late afternoon/early evening, it had cooled to approximately 150 degrees. The reek of body odor and hot vomit loosely covered with sawdust greeted us as our children outlined a game plan that would entail several hours of carny hell for two parents in law enforcement. And while Gavin went on everything he was tall enough for and could con a cousin into accompanying him on, Gabe spent his time pointing out the perfect rides, making it to the front of the line, and then running away screaming and crying in terror. Eventually he decided the gigantic slide was ok, and so the entire family took turns climbing 8 billion steps to shoot down a slide that lasted about 1.5 seconds. Yay.
Eventually tickets ran out and it was time to get food and watch the show. The boys were supplied with pizza, which Gavin inhaled and Gabe sat on, and the show began. Gavin watched in glee, and if a thought bubble could have been visualized above his head it undoubtedly would have involved images of him riding on top of his cozy coupe while Gabe drove, chasing down the poor neighbor dog to attempt to either rope or wrestle it to the ground. Somewhere along the line Gavin was provided by Auntie and Grandma with a funnel cake. After that his words blurred together and he actually just stood by the banister at the front of the bleachers twitching and jumping. Grandpa refused to hold him anymore, saying something to Auntie about this being "her doing" and passed the little sugar blur off to her for supervision. Gabe passed out cold after yelling at us repeatedly for being too noisy. But I actually got to watch the entire rodeo. And it was bliss.
Gavin, having lost all capacity for quiet speech due to the combination of sugar, adrenaline and exhaustion, ran a commentary on the way back to the car that entertained dozens of people around us and involved pointing out every pile of horse poop and then obsessing over the muddy parking lot which could possibly contain poop we would be powerless to avoid stepping in. While we anticipated the wild boys would pass out cold on the 45 minute drive home they actually held out until 10 minutes from home. And when they were tucked in at 11:30 we thought to ourselves we might get to sleep in on Sunday.
HA!!!! And hence, the fair hangover. Because while we did not have alcohol, we still woke up congested from dust, with screaming headaches from muscle strains from metal bleachers and the giant slide, and sore as if we had actually ridden bulls ourselves. And the wild boys? Eager to report on the events they thought we needed reminding of less than 12 hours later. At the crack of dawn.
Fair may be a younger person's sport. Not that we're giving up that easy. After all, we have a year to recover.
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