The county fair opened yesterday. The boys aren’t old enough to have animals in the fair yet (thanks be to God), so we’re not obligated to be there every day. We’ve been twice – yesterday without the kids, and today with – and I am done. Paul and Levi are going tomorrow to the local tractor pull to watch a nephew. Elias is not yet aware that he’ll be left behind. THAT should be fun.
The fair is not just petting sheep and goats and bunnies. The fair is food (walking tacos, fries with vinegar, and pork sandwiches are the favorites in this house, and let us not forget the Lerch’s Donuts, lest we be cast out of society), stopping constantly to talk to relatives and friends, and hearing the modified tractors roaring on Saturday night, even from the other side of the fairgrounds.
The fair is lying to your children about how old you have to be to ride the rides. Or maybe that one’s just me. And I’m not sure “lying” is the right term. Prevaricating, perhaps? And acting, as in acting like the big wagon that takes you back to the far corner of the parking lot is “one of the rides.”
Don’t judge me. Levi is a puker.
Especially after his parents have hit the wall and stopped caring about good choices, and allowed him to eat all the cotton candy he can wrestle away from his brother.
Hangin’ in the wagon, taking in pure sugar. It’s a good life.