Tuesday night, we went to a county fair. One that operates on a very large scale. It also, coincidentally, requires a capital investment roughly equivalent to our grocery budget for a couple of weeks. Oh, I wish I were kidding.
Little brother was disappointed that he was almost tall enough to ride some of the really cool rides. We did not allow big boy to taunt him, because really, having to be measured and coming up short is enough trauma for one day. We let him play some of the overpriced carnival games instead. He won a small stuffed puppy, so that was some consolation.
What mom liked: the fireworks; the cotton candy; that Hawkeye rode the rides with the boys; the very, very cute little farmer display that involved the children interacting at different stations (station one: acquiring corn and soybeans; station two: planting some of the corn and soybeans, and harvesting plastic produce; so on and so forth, until they sell their products at the farmer's market and spend their loot on an agricultural item - milk, ice cream, animal crackers or an apple). This was a wonderful idea, and was well-executed and fun for all the kids.
What the boys liked: the rides - the end.
What Hawkeye liked: spending time with the boys. When the rides ended. What his stomach did not like: the rides - the end.
So, for the last ride of the night, Hawkeye and big boy were riding something where little brother did not measure up. So, he wants to go back and ride something else. Which they wouldn't let him ride without an adult. Which is how mom ended up riding this carnival ride that literally flung you from one place to another as it revolved. Can I mention that I am almost 37 years old (next week) and am really past enjoying carnival rides? However, I was not willing to disappoint little brother any further, so I got on it. What my stomach, arm, neck, and other parts of my anatomy did not like: the ride. The end.
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