Our first stop was the free petting zoo. They charged a dollar for a sandwich bag of carrot slivers. We bought two. There were goats, porcupines, llamas, a camel, pigs, and a very somber musk ox. I think the owners of the petting zoo must have withheld their breakfast in order to boost carrot sales, because the animals were literally climbing on top of each other to eat the carrots. Luckily, Maeve seemed to have a healthy fear of holding out her hand for too long, because my gut says that the animals might have been hungry enough to eat her as well. Especially this one Pygmy goat, who definitely had his eye on her.
We all survived, but I think that watching the wily animals devour those carrots made Robert think about lunch, even though it was only 10:00 in the morning. It is very trying on my patience to deliberate about Fair food choices with Robert. He is never satisfied with the outcome. We let the kids pick out their food first, before we became overly immersed in Robert's incomprehensible decision tree. And what do you think we bought? But of course -- chicken nuggets! Unfortunately, Maeve has slipped backwards in her pickiness and will only eat chicken nuggets, French fries, yogurt, Munchkins from Dunkin Donuts, pizza, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sometimes stir fried broccoli. Her dietary choices keep me awake with parental remorse every night. It's quite sad, I actually rationalized to myself that at least the chicken nuggets from the Fair were a new type (as opposed to McDonald's or Wendy's), and at least we were supporting a small, local business instead of a corporate chain. The kids both ate them, and were completely unfazed by their lack of adventurism.
Robert's first food choice was not the difficult part. He wanted a Philly steak and cheese. The real debate was where to get this delicacy from. I lost track of counting how many stands sold steak and cheese sandwiches, but it was a lot. I felt like we were wandering around aimlessly, hoping to see a sign that would say, "Robert, here is the perfect Philly steak and cheese for you!"
Every time we passed by a place, I would say, "This smells good. How about here?"
Robert would look at me like I had three heads. "Do you see those green peppers? They don't look good. Green peppers should never be that color green."
"Okay," I said. "I guess that makes sense." We walked by a few more stands and rides and this really talented woman on stilts. I bought a piece of roasted corn. It was hot, buttery, salty heaven. Max and I ate it together. It is, hands down, my favorite Fair food. Max was starting to get restless. Eating is a chore for him, not an act of pleasure. He was ready to be spun, flipped, and swung by rusty, creaky Fair rides.
"I think it's just around this corner," Robert said, implying that he knew exactly what stand he wanted to go to AND he knew exactly where it was located. It would be quite impressive if it was true, which it wasn't. Finally, Robert broke down and ordered his sandwich. I was *this* close to intervening. Even though I wanted him to hurry the hell up and pick a place, I also really did want him to be happy with his sandwich, especially after the effort we had all put into looking for it. But I didn't intervene, I let him order his steak and cheese, and hoped that he would like it.
It started off fine. He took a few bites, and I didn't hear any negative comments. Phew, I thought, now we can stop obsessing about food and let the kids go on some rides. And then, silly old me, I thought it would be nice for me to ask him, "Robert, you like your steak and cheese?"
He looked up from his sandwich, and I saw the lines of regret on his face. "It's not right," he said. "We didn't go to the right place."
"Well, are you going to finish it?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said in a defeated way. "I'll eat it. I'm just mad at myself. It's definitely not the sandwich."
Now is when I started to lose my patience. "How do you even know such a sandwich exists?" I asked him.
"Because!" he exclaimed. "I've had it before, three years ago. I know it's just right down there somewhere," he said as he vaguely pointed his finger down a line of rides, food stands, and game booths.
"Shut up and eat the damn sandwich," I said in probably a very bitchy, dismissive kind of way. But this topic of conversation had to end. It was going nowhere, and our kids were getting squirmy. And yes, I'll go ahead and admit that it's my fault that our kids say "shut up." And other such things.
I spotted one in particular and said, "Look, Max! That's a fast one! You want to go?" Max readily agreed.
"Why don't you take him on it, and I'll find something to do with Maeve," said Robert.
"Do you even know me?" I asked. "I'm not going on that ride. I would barf corn kernels."
I hate rides. I haven't always been this lame. I used to go on all sorts of rides -- roller coasters, the Gravitron, even the Ring of Fire. If it went upside down, I was on it. I'm surprised that I was not ejected and thrown to my death on some of those rides. Just thinking about it makes my heart race. Once I became a mother, my days of fearless living were over. Literally everything became a potential tragedy. I'm surprised we even get out of the house sometimes. I've also developed horrible vertigo in my old age. Even swinging makes my head swim and my stomach turn. I do realize that I've become one of those mothers that I used to scorn -- one who does not go on rides with her kid. But I also have come to realize that that is what husbands are for.
So Robert agreed to take Max on the ride, and I watched on the sidelines with Maeve. The ride was spider-like and its arms whipped around in unpredictably fast motions. It is exactly the kind of ride that I hate the most. Its pure purpose is to uncover any weak-stomached riders. Max's head barely reached the safety bar. As the ride started, the centrifugal force pinned Max to Robert's body on the far side of the seat. He laughed like a maniac, while kids twice his age were screaming for their mommies. Oddly enough, I felt a little proud.
After that, we stood in line for the Ferris wheel. It's a tradition! We had to go on the Ferris wheel. Even lame moms go on Ferris wheels, right? They are slow and don't go upside down. I thought I would handle it just fine even though my anxiety levels were steadily rising as we got closer in line. I noticed that as they were loading and unloading riders, a few carts were left dangling in the air. Robert said that was the best part. Where you have the longest view. I cannot fathom why anyone would define this activity as the best of anything. Soon it was our turn to step on the ride. I sat closest to Maeve, and Robert sat next to Max. Right before the ride attendant locked our cart door, I asked him, "This is safe, right?" He merely nodded, as if my question was trivial. He nodded at another man who pushed a giant lever, causing the Ferris wheel to creak to life and take us upward. Our fate was sealed.
I gripped the wheel in the center of the cart. I bent my head down so I could not see the ground disappearing.
"What's wrong, mommy?" asked Max.
Maeve had her hand on my leg. It comforted me.
"Allison, it's not that bad. Just look up," Robert said.
I tried. I picked up my head very slowly, and it all hit me at once -- the height, the swinging carts, the rusty metal frame of the Ferris Wheel, the big holes on either side of the cart that Max or Maeve could easily fall through. I screamed then and lowered my head down again. I felt sick, disoriented, dizzy. Maeve was moving around beside me. I tried to get ahold of her but that would have required looking up, and that could not happen anymore.
Robert said, "We need to switch places so I can have Maeve."
I just about lost it then. "NO ONE is changing positions on the Ferris wheel. We are not getting up and moving around," I ordered. I kept repeating these phrases over and over.
Finally Robert said, "You're making the kids scared."
I rolled my eyes, but he couldn't see that because my head was facing down. "This isn't some performance, Robert. I'm terrified! So many really bad things could happen at any minute," I said just as Maeve decided to stick her head out the opening of the cart. I guess she just wanted the best possible view even if it might contribute to her mother's heart failure. Robert held her legs secure, but it still made me feel incredibly vulnerable and fragile.
I don't know if I can truly express how happy I was when that ride came to an end. I told the ride attendant, "That was terrifying." I'm sure that wasn't the answer that he expected from riding the Ferris wheel.
After we all safely disembarked the Ferris wheel, it was time to leave the Fair. The kids were getting loony as nap time was approaching, and I was having a hard time walking in an upright position.
Thinking about our trip to the fair, I feel an urge to choose the biggest hit for our family. The choice is effortless, much more so than steak and cheeses. Here it is:
Yes, that would be a porta potty. Max was more impressed with this portable toilet than anything else in the entire Fair. It had a door that you could shut and a huge hole full of deodorized poop and pee. Fascinating stuff for a three-year-old. Max said, "Wow!!! It's a big hole!!"
I was more concerned that Robert didn't let him touch anything. Yuck. I didn't even dare peek inside that thing.
I am considering renting one for next year's Fair. I'd charge three tickets for admission. I'd paint the inside with glow in the dark paint. Maybe I'd even make the water in the hole glow in the dark so kids would think that their pee and poop glows too. I could probably hook up a sound system and play nice children's songs, like Raffi, in the background. I could name it something clever. How about "Drop Zone"? I'm seriously thinking I might be onto something here. I'll keep you posted.
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