Carnival Time Again, EEK

Oh no, it's that time of year again. I have to lug my sweaty behind to the 

school carnival, 

along with two excited 8 year olds who view the entire event as a sort of prom for elementary kids. They are going to run into all their friends, while I juggle sunscreen, bug spray, and carny food. 

I just know it.

Not always such a grouch, but the school carnival really is Hell Night for parents. First, we have to load our kids onto rides that grooooooaaaaaan and squeak as the children are strapped in and whirled into Centrifugal torture. They seem to like it pretty well; I turn away and try not to eye the one bolt coming loose on the structure.

It's Catholic school, so we do get to watch the priests aim for each other at the dunk tank. It's the one highlight, when Father Fernando gets a soaking. Winning!

Who has two left hands and wants to dunk the guy in a full suit? This gal!

I've got my tactics down for hustling kids past the Overpriced / Cheapo toy game stalls. "You've already got five of those at home... win anymore and we'll all have to move out to the garage... look, funnel cake..."

Yes, I will feed the child batter deep-fried in mystery oil rather than carry home another rubber duck or three foot long fuzzy python stuffed with old cleaner bags.

We can relax in the food tent, except the band there always turns the volume up to "Eleven" and I like my eardrums. So, no.

Sit and get a face henna tattoo that you'll wash off in twenty minutes? And pay many dollars for that experience? I think not.

Am I the only one who eyes up the "fresh lemonade" stand and wonder, Do they wash those lemons?

At eight o'clock, the vampires come out. Goth dudes and girls appear, with black lipstick and micro shorts over tattered fishnets. I LOVE it when they show up, because at that point we really need to get home and wash off several centimeters of machine lube and sugar.

Yup, Carnival Night. 

Dress Down Day, part deux

A few weeks ago I posted about how much I hate "Dress Down Days." My kid goes to Catholic school, so usually it's a no-brainer; I just pull out the severely uncomfortable, not-very-attractive clothes and everyone's happy. My job is to keep stuff clean, not to be fashion police.

But out of the blue we had another dress-down day today. You can read about how the last one went here, but let's just say, It's not pretty. And I have to pay a dollar to get all this aggravation, which is just the final insult.


This morning, she went to put on her clothes (it was Team Colors day, so she wore a Mets shirt) and, as she was pulling on her leggings, she turned to me and said, "Mmmm, I don't think I'll wear these pants after all."


I began to swell up, like a frog, preparing for a good old fashioned Mom Yell. She interrupted this by adding:


JUST KIDDING


What a joker. She nearly gave me a heart attack.