Sunday, September 18, 2011

Strike the match

Today I took my kids to an annual festival called the "Wurstfest, mine and Eddie's old stompin grounds. When we moved in together (about a month and a half after we met) we lived in Middlefingerton, right smack in the middle of Wallingford.
Anyway, so we are walking around and buying cookies at the bake sale, where I saw my friend slangin' cookies. The event raises money for their school, which seems amazing all on it's own. The kids jump in the jumpy things, we ate bratwurst and watched Casper Baby Pants. We did our thing. Q rode the Cliff Hanger twice and waited for too long for something else, that he later bailed on... time was ticking. Time is always ticking, we have a toddler in the house.
Elvis jumped in her first jumpy house. I had to talk her into getting in because she was just not having it. Standing on the outside, she wanted to be in there, but walking up to the puffy slide thing you climb in on, not so much. We waited until there were just little kids and she finally took the bait. And I just sort of tossed her in. I knew she would love it and that way everyone wins and we can go home. I have been gone all summer. All I want to do is hang out at my house.
After about 5 minutes (I think the lady let them jump longer since it took 25 minutes for her to get in there, which was nice) it was time for everyone to get out. I hadn't given that part too much thought. I just forgot I guess. Not now. Now I remember how unreasonable babies can be. And that's when the fun started. I told her it was time to get out, I shook my hands to sign "all done". Nope. Nothing. I had to actually get in the jumpy house. I had to climb in and roll around and the only thing I could grab her by (because OF COURSE she thought it was hilarious that I was coming in after her) were her little tiny feet. I pulled her ankles and dragged her out like a fish at Pike Place Market. It was not my proudest moment. She was whaling and I just smirked at the line of freaked out mothers who were judging me. I'm certain as a jertain in a curtain.
I see a lot of that shit go down and mothers who talk loudly to their kid (as if they will then hear them over the fire truck volume scream) and they are reasoning with them, 'It's okay honey, you had your turn, it is time for some of the other kids to have their turn then it can be your turn again."
Horse shit. I was not bringing her back. We were out of there as soon as I climbed out of the door flaps and slid down the inflatable slide.

No comments:

Post a Comment