Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The Accidental Carnival, and by the Way, Harry Loves a Parade
We were driving around looking for one of those take-and-bake pizza places, and we noticed a clump of pedestrians sweating and eating funnel cakes. Ben opened the window, and we heard the unmistakable hiss of that octopus ride and the borderline hysterical screams of kids. Those things, coupled with a whiff of carnie on the August breeze, meant we had stumbled onto some sort of parking lot carnival.
Sure enough, five minutes later, we were standing in the gravel by a ferris wheel, eating a bag of fresh donuts and chatting with a friendly police officer who told us that a parade was scheduled for the very next morning!
Luckily, Ben is good at carnival games. The stakes become much higher when your toddler is waiting in hushed anticipation for one of the looks-soft-but-is-really-very-hard stuffed animals behind the balloon/dart game counter. As you can see, Harry got a monkey, whom he examined and declared to be "Not George."
The merry-go-round was the only thing Harry could ride. Wait till next year, my friends-- kiddie coasters, bumper cars, trains-- all for those 38 inches and up.
As soon as we took this picture, we removed the huge stick from Dora's head. The huge stick up Ben's butt? Always in place. (Kidding! He only lost it once, when I was stalking around Walgreen's saying we had to buy chairs because I could not SIT IN THE STREET and breastfeed. Ben was staggering behind me, carrying 3 bottles of water, a pack of Oreos, some Twizzlers, three Matchbox cars that Harry "needed," Jack in his infant seat, and Harry's hot little hand. When I told him I could not buy a clearance blanket to sit on because I have a texture issue with fringe, he freaked out a little bit. But then we had brunch and found some clean shade near a bank.)
Once again, Jack was aggressively shielded from the sun.
Harry flying his rocket ship (nope-- there is no limit to the amount of crap we'll buy at a parade)
It's weird because when Harry was little, I would breastfeed anywhere with no qualms or blankets. This time, there are places/times where/when I don't want to be exposed Maybe because I have tennis ball in tube sock boobs and a donut of flab around my middle. 30 is rough.
I'm with Harry, really. What's better than a small town parade?