March Madness
March brings St. Patrick's Day to the Casa de Testosterone. It's a joyous time, filled with numerous celebrations for the Irish woman and her little temper prone wild boys. One of our family traditions in this wonderful month is a semi-local Celtic Fair.
Part of you have now officially declared me nerdy beyond repair. That's ok, I've long since accepted that. In fact, when I got my first Star Trek related t-shirt and was so giddy I called people to tell them about it I accepted my status. But for those of you judging keep in mind this is not just a fair full of people in costume (although it is that, which makes for fantastic people watching), it is also full of highland games, jousting, awesome music and whiskey tasting. So you want to judge? Tell it to the ripped guy in the kilt tossing a caber. The one who just came from the whiskey tasting. Go ahead, call us weirdos. I dare you.
So me and the wild boys go to the fair every year with my folks, my three sisters, my two nieces, my brother in law and his parents, and the boys' great aunt. And every year the cop manages to miss it, usually sleeping off a graveyard. And I take the boys despite knowing of the repurcussions. Because if you thought the wild boys were out of control on Christmas, let me tell you a little something about the Celtic fair aftermath.
Last year I worried the boys would try to joust each other on tricycles. It was much worse, though. Rather than fight each other the boys opted to team up, and as I walked outside to water plants a horrifying dual war cry greeted me as Gabriel powered the police car cozy coupe as fast as his little legs could carry him, with Gavin seated firmly on the roof holding a broom coming at me full bore.
The cop worried the boys would continue the Irish step dancing they sometimes break into when they hear any Celtic music. Rather, the boys have opted to try to be Irish rock musicians. Never before has an Elmo guitar and Fisher Price drum combo induced such a painful cacophony with good intention.
This year has proven no exception. In fact as the boys are a little older and have begun to play considerably rougher I was really setting myself up for trouble. And the fair did not disappoint. The first event we watched was sword fighting in full armor. Gavin was hypotized, right against the ropes of the ring, and watched in wide eyed wonder when the knight who was knocked unconscious was carried out. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
We moved on to archery. Once a year the wild boys are allowed to do archery, and they wait for it with baited breath. You may be thinking they are too young, but they've been doing it since they could stand with some adult assistance, and in all that time they've only sustained a few injuries. Gavin caught his ear with the string once. Gabriel stabbed him with an arrow last year, but it was only a flesh wound. This year Gabriel managed to shoot straight over the backdrop with targets on it. My dad assured me he heard a horse whinny in terror from the area where it landed, but I'm almost positive the stables are on the other end of the arena. And nobody yelled, so we're probably ok.
On to the highland games, which we made just in time for the hammer toss. I can only imagine what my children will be throwing within the next week. I watched them memorize every second of the spin and toss, and mentally assessed what needed to be moved to high shelves. Paint cans, beach buckets, anything with a handle...
We decided to take a break for the sake of Auntie Jess, who is currently on crutches, and while we sat watching Irish step dance and enjoying the music Auntie Amy snuck off and bought the boys wooden swords. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, they did exactly what you think they would. And they have since. We have made ruled about no hitting above the shoulders, but they fight dirty. They have found ways to use belt loops and, if necessary, pant legs, as sheaths, and they randomly sneak up on me or one another and whip out a sword with threats of no mercy. It should be charming, but part of me is afraid they're going to rip out a pant leg in their haste to draw, and I'm running low on their jeans. Yes, that really is what I'm worried about. If you're one of those parents who would be terrified if your child played with a stick then my kids are not for you. Also, I'm guessing you just have the one kid, who may actually exist in some kind of bubble. Let me assure you by the time you get to the fifth kid you are WAY more relaxed. Or numb and in some kind of shock, I'm not sure. Either way, it's working for me.
Our final event for the day was the jousting. Over the years it has devolved from actual jousting to one bout of jousting followed by some very theatrical sword fighting to the fake death. It's highly entertaining, especially if you are a four or five year old boy. The wild boys were so jacked up on adrenaline at this point that Gavin kept yelling things like "Booyah! Take that blue knight!" and Gabriel, having lost capacity for speech just wildy swung his sword and howled like a wolf.
I can only imagine how much fun they'll be when they're old enough for the whiskey tasting.
Today is Celtic Fair hangover day. No, not alcohol hangover, just adrenaline. The boys are surly and mean, and keep hitting things with wooden swords. It's a delightful day to be a parent. Hopefully they'll actually survive until St. Patricks Day.
Until next time.
Part of you have now officially declared me nerdy beyond repair. That's ok, I've long since accepted that. In fact, when I got my first Star Trek related t-shirt and was so giddy I called people to tell them about it I accepted my status. But for those of you judging keep in mind this is not just a fair full of people in costume (although it is that, which makes for fantastic people watching), it is also full of highland games, jousting, awesome music and whiskey tasting. So you want to judge? Tell it to the ripped guy in the kilt tossing a caber. The one who just came from the whiskey tasting. Go ahead, call us weirdos. I dare you.
So me and the wild boys go to the fair every year with my folks, my three sisters, my two nieces, my brother in law and his parents, and the boys' great aunt. And every year the cop manages to miss it, usually sleeping off a graveyard. And I take the boys despite knowing of the repurcussions. Because if you thought the wild boys were out of control on Christmas, let me tell you a little something about the Celtic fair aftermath.
Last year I worried the boys would try to joust each other on tricycles. It was much worse, though. Rather than fight each other the boys opted to team up, and as I walked outside to water plants a horrifying dual war cry greeted me as Gabriel powered the police car cozy coupe as fast as his little legs could carry him, with Gavin seated firmly on the roof holding a broom coming at me full bore.
The cop worried the boys would continue the Irish step dancing they sometimes break into when they hear any Celtic music. Rather, the boys have opted to try to be Irish rock musicians. Never before has an Elmo guitar and Fisher Price drum combo induced such a painful cacophony with good intention.
This year has proven no exception. In fact as the boys are a little older and have begun to play considerably rougher I was really setting myself up for trouble. And the fair did not disappoint. The first event we watched was sword fighting in full armor. Gavin was hypotized, right against the ropes of the ring, and watched in wide eyed wonder when the knight who was knocked unconscious was carried out. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
We moved on to archery. Once a year the wild boys are allowed to do archery, and they wait for it with baited breath. You may be thinking they are too young, but they've been doing it since they could stand with some adult assistance, and in all that time they've only sustained a few injuries. Gavin caught his ear with the string once. Gabriel stabbed him with an arrow last year, but it was only a flesh wound. This year Gabriel managed to shoot straight over the backdrop with targets on it. My dad assured me he heard a horse whinny in terror from the area where it landed, but I'm almost positive the stables are on the other end of the arena. And nobody yelled, so we're probably ok.
On to the highland games, which we made just in time for the hammer toss. I can only imagine what my children will be throwing within the next week. I watched them memorize every second of the spin and toss, and mentally assessed what needed to be moved to high shelves. Paint cans, beach buckets, anything with a handle...
We decided to take a break for the sake of Auntie Jess, who is currently on crutches, and while we sat watching Irish step dance and enjoying the music Auntie Amy snuck off and bought the boys wooden swords. No, I'm not kidding. Yes, they did exactly what you think they would. And they have since. We have made ruled about no hitting above the shoulders, but they fight dirty. They have found ways to use belt loops and, if necessary, pant legs, as sheaths, and they randomly sneak up on me or one another and whip out a sword with threats of no mercy. It should be charming, but part of me is afraid they're going to rip out a pant leg in their haste to draw, and I'm running low on their jeans. Yes, that really is what I'm worried about. If you're one of those parents who would be terrified if your child played with a stick then my kids are not for you. Also, I'm guessing you just have the one kid, who may actually exist in some kind of bubble. Let me assure you by the time you get to the fifth kid you are WAY more relaxed. Or numb and in some kind of shock, I'm not sure. Either way, it's working for me.
Our final event for the day was the jousting. Over the years it has devolved from actual jousting to one bout of jousting followed by some very theatrical sword fighting to the fake death. It's highly entertaining, especially if you are a four or five year old boy. The wild boys were so jacked up on adrenaline at this point that Gavin kept yelling things like "Booyah! Take that blue knight!" and Gabriel, having lost capacity for speech just wildy swung his sword and howled like a wolf.
I can only imagine how much fun they'll be when they're old enough for the whiskey tasting.
Today is Celtic Fair hangover day. No, not alcohol hangover, just adrenaline. The boys are surly and mean, and keep hitting things with wooden swords. It's a delightful day to be a parent. Hopefully they'll actually survive until St. Patricks Day.
Until next time.
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