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Summer on the Island is fun.
For me that means doing everything we always do, just in nicer weather. But generally speaking this means fairs, festivals, events, parades and all other nonsense. And after my son politely excused himself the other day while chatting on our beach with the regulars, Mr. Applegate and Mr.Schmidt, and went to pee on the bush, I vowed to attend more pubic events.
In my quest to expose my son to crowds, candy and public restrooms I made my lovely neighbor make me a pinky promise that on Sunday we will take the kids to a local farm for a something or the other berry festival. Because when home alone that is what women do, family fun things, solo. With one child each and a huge dog. I would also like to add that my other lovely neighbor tested the grounds with her six children, solo, the day before. And said it was great.
I was confident this will be a turning point in my child’s life. He has been to a few fairs with Daddy, but I can be fun too. Plus this one was at an eco friendly farm. Surely there will be no clowns or other things that scare the living out of me ( it is a legit phobia, I googled it!). Only oversized organic vegetables.
A few things I did not take into consideration:
– we dropped Daddy off an hour before scheduled time of departure (ours, I don’t know about his; I am sure his airline adopted to my schedule )
– the weather (only hot day in Pacific Northwest this year)
– my dog ( and his celebrity status)
– my friendship with my neighbor ( I think she might have locked herself home and threw away the key since we returned from the festival)
– and my general dislike of public places.
We were on time. Little J was sad about Daddy jetting around without him and the dog was not walked. The whole drive there we spend talking about what not to do. I got a triple promise from Little J about sticking together, helping mommy and not nagging for stuff. I got a huge slobber from Big M on my only decent pair or jeans.
Looking back I think the fact that I would rather be trekking Antarctic in a bikini then be there largely dictated the outing. Because the festival was lovely, my neighbor is even cooler then I imagined, her daughter was a wonderful influence on my son and people are generally great. Although next time I am laminating a quick Q & A spread sheet and putting it around my dogs neck. It will save me from repeating 719 times that he indeed is big, weighting 170 pounds and eats small dinosaurs for dinner. Because I can honestly say I had no visual on my son 99,3 % of the time due to dog enquires. At one point I saw the goats and rooster in the petting ZOO planning a coup against Big M for stealing the show. Until a purple poodle arrived and took away all the limelight. I don’t know, apparently it is fashionable to color your dogs fur.
Anyway, i thought the trip was a disaster. I must have apologised to my friend one too many times and told Little J off way too many times. I wondered why he spend all his tickets going down the slide if he has five playgrounds in walking distance from his house. I wondered why he chose to eat a hot dog when there were many interesting food stands with great ethnic food. I wondered why he refused to visit the fire engine when he dreams of being a fire fighter.
It is simple. He is a kid, but he is also his own little person. And it turns out he likes things I don’t. But when a clown came over and offered to draw him a picture, he hid behind me and asked if we can go home now. That’s my boy.
He told me later he already visited the fire engine many times before and let others take turn this time. And after I looked at all the photos I knew he was telling the truth, seems he was in the sharing kind of mood. See for yourself. I think he had fun. But he still wanted to pee under a tree.
Little J amazed by the fountain sculpture.
Sharing a ball with a little girl.
Rooster eyeing Big M.
Down the slide, take 57.
Fishing for a puzzle.
Every mom thinks her offspring is special. And we love talking about them. I also have a huge dog that everybody else likes talking about. Now my son is three and he is a real chatterbox. Trust me, he goes on and on and I try to keep up. Everybody tells me I should write a book. I wish I could say I remember but I laugh, post, retell and forget. Why not blog our daily adventures? So here goes, enjoy the ride…