Good, Not-So-Clean Fun

Over the past week, I made not one, not two, but THREE trips to the hallowed grounds of the county fair in my hometown. Where fatty fried confections, big hair and ill-fitting clothing rein supreme, and the language is both colorful and grammatically incorrect.

The fair draws all the locals and many former locals who can't resist the allure of odoriferous animal barns, greasy grub and has-been musical acts. I would be content with one quick visit just to make sure nothing has changed too much, but the other three members of my family have turned into wanna-be "carnies." My husband has passed his love of all things fair to our kids, and they couldn't get enough of it this year. I was there three times, but Alex and Brian were there FIVE times. Poor Lauren--she made only four trips to the fair.

We always go on Sunday, the first day, because admission is free. We were back the next night for the infamous fair parade. The most interesting character might have been the parade watcher in a yarmulke. The town's Jewish population was pretty much cut in half when my parents moved away, so I think he was lost.

Having young kids makes you look at a parade in a whole new light (at least for the first two hours--this parade is LONG). From tiny baton twirlers to teenage sports teams, from harem pant-clad Shriners to men in kilts, the parade is just good, not-so-clean fun.

With many of the "marchers" tossing candy, Alex had fun scrambling for Tootsie Rolls and Dubble Bubble. Lauren, of course, loved all the "royalty"--the fair queen and her court, dairy princesses, Little Miss "Small Town" and more.

My crew was back at the fair the next day, for "kids' day." I will admit I'm not sure what makes that day special, but for as long as I can remember, Tuesday has been kids' day. They got there in time to catch the noon horse races. I was okay with missing that.

On Friday, Brian returned with Alex for the horse pull. Once again, I don't feel like I missed out. I made sure they returned in time for me to take Alex to a local production of Hairspray. I figured that somewhat made up for the other forms of "culture" he had experienced during the week.

This year, for the first time, the local Y held a race in conjunction with the fair. Brian and I run in races occasionally and thought this one might be fun. It was. It was also funNY, because the advertised 5k (3.1 miles) was only 2.8 miles. And part of the course was even on a track! The pièce de résistance was the ribbon I earned for placing first in my age group. Instead of having my time listed on the back, it listed the race start time. I'm happy to have a permanent reminder that the race started at 8:30 a.m.

And the county fair will always serve as a reminder of my "past." A good past, in retrospect, although as a teenager, I couldn't wait to move away. Today, as an adult and a parent with some life experiences under her belt, I can recognize that small town life isn't so bad. I won't be moving back to my hometown anytime soon, but I'm happy to expose my kids to the sights and sounds of my own childhood. As long as they promise to avoid the fried Twinkies and furry talking monkeys.

See you at the fair next year!

The 'Tude

Since when did 7-year-olds have the sarcasm, negative attitude and indignation of a teenager? Some gnarly teen took my sweet little boy, and I want him back (my son, not the gnarly teen).

I can say little without Alex giving me attitude, or rolling his eyes, or flat out telling me no, he will not do what I asked. And then there are the tantrums, with tears so forced he can turn them on and off like the kitchen sink. Just the other day he was crying on the way to day camp, but stopped as soon as we got there. In a completely normal voice, he asked, "Mom, do I have any tears left on my face?" What had been sob-worthy two minutes before was suddenly forgotten.

Alex's sarcastic tone is complemented (worsened?) by his use of air quotes. I did not think I used them very often, but apparently I do--he said he learned the technique from me. Oy. Part of me is infuriated, and the other part realizes his way with words (and air quotes) is another indication of his advanced thinking. He makes me believe it truly is possible for a kid to be too smart for his own good.

We had somewhat of a trying weekend. Alex's down-and-out tantrum at his great-grandparents' house meant I did not take him to the pool. Faced with several hours of no swimming and no TV (he lost that privilege as well), he asked me to play with him. We enjoyed a game of Scrabble, but I decided we should take a break when he came up with "sexy" for his turn (I really need to keep my magazines out of sight--even Redbook is not safe!). He later admitted that an afternoon of playing with his toys and hanging out with his mom was not so bad, although I'm sure he would deny that statement today.

Later that evening, we went to the Olive Garden. Alex ate three breadsticks and a little pasta, and declared he was full. But then he had the nerve to ask for a milkshake, because he was only full of "certain foods." I refused, but said maybe later. He tried to convince me there was no difference between now and later and declared I was going to be in the Guinness Book of World Records for making the most nonsense.

I see so much of myself in Alex. He's smart, he's cute ... seriously, though, I know I used to be argumentative (and still am sometimes). I like to get my way. I don't like to be wrong. Alex is exactly the same. I just hope that as he matures, he will realize that arguing, negativity and sarcastic comments will not help him get what he wants. Until then, I might buy us matching muzzles.

Brown Squiggly Sacrifice

I recently wrote about the sacrifices we make for our children--for me, it was going to a water park. I thought that was going to be my "big" sacrifice of the summer--until I stupidly suggested we go to Black Moshannon State Park last Sunday.

Silly me--I thought that Brian and I would lounge on the beach while Alex and Lauren played in the sand and waded in the water. Notice I said WADED in the water. However, I underestimated my son and his newfound swimming ability. He wanted to go to the "deep end," and wanted me to go with him. Considering he just learned to swim this summer, I could not turn him down.

So I slowly entered the water, cringing with each step. Alex wanted to go out to where it was five feet deep, but we compromised with four. He had brought a beach ball, and wanted to play catch. He didn't do so well with throwing the ball right into my hands, which meant it either hit the water in front of me and splashed my face, or went behind me, forcing me into deeper water. I'm still not sure whether he kept "missing" on purpose. I tried to keep a smile on my face, but it was one of those "Mom, are we finished taking the picture now" smiles. In other words, forced.

There were quite a few people in the water. People who were totally submerging themselves in the water. Kids in goggles diving down to the murky depths. I was cringing internally the entire time. Until I got out of the water--and cringed for real.

Alex and I both had little brown squiggly things--for lack of a better term--all over our bodies. They were not moving (FORTUNATELY!). I have no idea what they were, but we had to literally scrub them off. Some hard scrubbing was required. I'm lucky I didn't throw up. Thank goodness there were showers there. Of course I could write another post about the condition of those showers, but I don't want to make anyone sick.

Alex did not really think much of the "squiggles" until we discussed them later. Thank goodness he agreed they were gross. Lauren, of course, did not care a bit. Take her to a beach and she's like a pig in slop. For some reason, she did not end up with many of the squiggles.

After our, uh, refreshing swim, we headed to the little camp store for a snack. The store that is open Memorial Day through Labor Day, but is filled with Christmas decorations. On the windowsill by our table, there was a tiny wrapped box--faded from years in the sun--with a quarter inside. On the bottom of the box, there was a price tag that said $.25. A bargain--for a quarter, we could have gotten a different quarter AND the box!

Ah, central Pennsylvania. We have beaches, we have great shopping, we have ... actually, we have a lot. I love it here. Brown squiggles excluded.

Reality Show

If I did not very clearly remember giving birth to my children, I would often question whether they were mine. The things that come out of their mouth make me feel like I'm living in a sit-com. I don't think I was a boring kid, but I'm pretty certain I was not bursting with personality like my two little angels. Er, heathens. Er, smart-alecky yet adorable kids.

A couple weeks ago, Alex was talking about a friend's sister who was allowed to stay home by herself when she was 11. He asked if he would be allowed to stay home alone at that age. So as not to start an argument, I told him that MAYBE he could, for brief periods. Without missing a beat, he asked, "Can I have a party?" I burst out laughing. Trying to save face, he claimed he meant a party with himself. Uh, I don't think I want him having a party with other kids OR himself, if you get my drift.

Last week, Lauren begged me to snuggle on the couch with her. I obliged, of course, and as soon as I sat down she twisted herself around so her feet were in my lap. "You can rub my feet," she stated in her sweet little voice. Again, I burst out laughing. It's not that I'm opposed to rubbing her feet (my husband's feet are another story). It's just that foot-rubbing does not occur in our house--unless you're rubbing your own--so I couldn't figure out where she even learned about that little pleasure. I'll blame one of those insipid "tween" shows on the Disney Channel.

Here's another Lauren classic: We were walking around the People's Choice Festival on Sunday, and Lauren kept asking me to carry her. I kept telling her no. So she said her knees were broken. I said that if her knees were broken, she could not go to her friend's birthday party. "My knees are all better now. Let's go to the party!" she exclaimed. Of course I have heard this type of thing before from Alex, but Lauren is only 3. I can't decide if this type of advanced thinking should make me proud--or scared.

Speaking of advanced thinking ... Alex can turn just about any conversation around to meet his needs. He stops just short of outright lying. I have to choose my words very carefully to ensure there are no loopholes Mr. Manipulation will use to his advantage. He was being his typical argumentative self recently and I warned him not to "talk back." He claimed he could not "talk back" when I had not said anything to him in the first place. It was true I had not said anything to him right before I told him not to talk back. Oy. In my case, having a smart kid means having a smart ass kid. According to my mom, this is payback ...

I recently took Lauren to a birthday party where all the children were, fortunately, very well behaved. I talked to some of the other parents about the differences between our kids' behavior at home and in other settings. At home, our kids let it all hang out--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Someone pointed out that the "experts" say kids who act out at home are also the ones who feel the most loved. If that's true, then my kids feel REALLY loved.

And that's the way it should be. The feeling loved part, at least. I could do without the smart-ass comments and sibling squabbling, but I've accepted that it's a package deal. Here's hoping we all make it through the weekend intact.

Chlorinated Sacrifice

Being a parent means making sacrifices. Having the title of "mom" or "dad" means you often do things you really don't want to do, from letting your son eat the last bit of your secret stash of ice cream to giving up the job promotion that would take the family overseas. I recently made the biggest sacrifice in my parenting life to date--I went to a water park.

Water parks are gross. No amount of chlorinated water can make up for the perpetually wet bathroom floors that reek of more than pool chemicals, or the lounge chairs where thousands of almost-naked bums have perched.

And then there are the bodies. All shapes, all sizes, all wearing close to nothing. I saw a few modest men who kept their shirts on (and even one with socks?!), but for the most part, people let it all hang out. I never thought going to a water park would be an ego boost for me, but there were plenty of "mom bods" in far worse shape than mine, as evidenced by the stretched-out tattoos no longer quite in their original locations.

My family does not spend much time at pools, so the kids are not used to seeing so many unclothed bodies. Alex wasn't fazed by it, but Lauren had some choice comments. What do you do when your 3-year-old points and laughs at one man's rather large belly? She had already told her dad she thought his belly looked funny. Glad I wore a tankini instead of a bikini. I probably spared myself the scorn of my appearance-conscious daughter.

As if the general skeeve factor were not enough, at water parks there is the added problem of what to do with your stuff. We saw many teenagers entering with just a towel around their necks and flip flops on their feet. There were cubbies near many of the slides where you could leave your shoes and towels, and it seemed like people were generally respectful of other people's stuff. But parents need to lug around towels, snacks, money, car keys, change of clothes, LOTS of antibacterial wipes, et cetera. The park we visited had lockers to rent, but they were tiny. Fortunately the skimpy hotel towels we "borrowed" did not take up too much space.

So I spent an entire day in a bathing suit, walked through a public bathroom with no shoes on (OMG, I still can't believe I did that), saw lots of not-so-heavenly bodies and ... I still had fun. Unlike amusement parks, where Brian and Lauren often go off on their own to ride the rides (yes, Brian and Lauren--Alex hates to ride, just like his mom), we did most of the water park activities together. There was minimal squabbling between the kids, and they had a great time playing in the fountain areas. We all enjoyed the lazy river and bobbing up and down in the wave pool. The kids wore life vests the entire time, which cut down on my nervousness (Alex is still learning to swim and Lauren just started lessons).

We got to the park around 10:30 a.m. and I was looking at my watch by 11:30. At that point, I realized I just had to relax. And then I started to have fun. The kids had a blast, and I know they will remember their water park visit for a long time to come. I will remember their smiles--and the scalding hot shower I took as soon as we got back to the hotel.

Partly to Mostly Sunny

My daughter is a "sunny" child. Happy, easy-going, eager to please. At 3, she already has a sense of humor, and her enthusiasm regarding just about everything makes her so much fun to be around. She randomly bestows kisses, loves to snuggle, and has one of those sweet grins that just makes you want to melt.

But sometimes, the clouds roll in. And when the dark clouds cover up the sun in Lauren's world, you better watch out.

About a month ago, I had woken up early to get started on Lauren's birthday cake. A true labor of love because Betty Crocker I am not. So I'm slaving away in the kitchen when I hear Lauren coming down the stairs. I go over to the stairs to greet her, and she sneers, "Go away. I don't want you." Uh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Often when we're driving, we play what I'll call the "I love you" game. I say "I love you Lauren Looby Lu," or some other silly name, and she responds with "I love you" and a silly name for me. So we're driving home from her swimming lesson last week and I start the game. "I don't want to play that game," she says with a pout, while chomping on a pretzel. I guess I should have known her priority would be food, not indulging Mom in some goofy game.

Usually the dark clouds come out of nowhere and then retreat quickly, just like a summer thunderstorm. However, other children sometimes bring on the stormy weather. We recently had a park incident that ensured no future friendship with a particular little boy. I had one eye on Lauren and one on Alex's soccer game. After a few minutes on the playground, she comes running back to me, claiming a little boy hit her. I didn't actually see it happen, but she does not usually lie, so I suggested she tell him hitting is not nice, and then go play on another part of the playground. She runs back over and when I check on her a minute later, I see her talking sternly to the kid, shaking her finger in his face. Oy. I'm glad she stood up for herself, but the finger-shaking was a little much ...

Lauren's generally "sunny" disposition makes it easier to get through the "stormy" days. It's hard to get angry at a kid who alternately sings "Tomorrow" (from Annie) and "Squirrels in My Pants" (from Phineas and Ferb) while wearing a princess dress and mismatched high heels. I know things may cloud over more often during the tween and teenage years. Until then, I'll just don my shades and enjoy the sun.

Mud vs. Fun

So I went camping over the Memorial Day weekend. For one night, in a cabin. YES, that is still camping. I don't care what anyone else thinks.

I was, uh, ambivalent about the trip (does camping even count as a trip?). I appreciate being outdoors, yada, yada, yada, but I need a hotel room or my own bed at night. Not to mention a bathroom with a tile floor (linoleum would suffice) that I can access without going outside.

Alex and Brian camped for four nights, and Lauren joined them for two nights. They all had a great time. I learned my little princess is not as "princess-y" as I thought. Take exhibit A:

While wading through a little creek behind our cabin, her shoes got stuck in the muck and she fell down. Surprisingly, she didn't mind a bit. I think she might have wanted to play in the water if she had not been literally stuck. Instead of rushing to help her out, I took advantage of a prime photo-taking opportunity. Fortunately Alex came to the rescue:

Exhibit B also involves water. Murky, muddy water:

My little Bo Derek wannabe was like a pig in slop at the beach. I cringed anytime she splashed water in her face. I know the ocean is just as dirty but, well, it's the ocean.

My son fancies himself an experienced camper. But do true campers bring this amenity?

Yes, that's a microwave. I also doubt many--if any--campers request an emergency box of this:

Matzo. Alex loves it. He was a little disappointed when I told him it would not work for mountain pies.

So my final verdict on the weekend? Sorta gross, but lots of fun. My kids had such a great time playing with their cousins, and I enjoyed watching them.

There was baseball:

Lots of eating:

And lots of cuteness:

Oops, wrong picture (yes, I'm actually smiling in the yucky shower).

There we go. Yes, lots of cuteness. I'd go camping again. Okay, I said it. Good thing there are only a few people who read my blog and can thus hold me accountable ...