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. 

Mean Mommy

At a certain point in some conversations, Mean Mommy kicks in. Allow me to illustrate:

Child: Will you take me to the carnival all four nights?
Me: Nope.
Child: Will you take me two nights? or three?
Me: Nope. We are going one night and that is it.
Child: (aghast) We can't just go one night!!!!
Me: Yup.
Child: That's so mean! I want to go every night! etc, etc
Me: You're lucky to be going at all.
Child: That's so unfair!

Now, this is when Mean Mommy kicks in

Me: Another word, and we will not go to the carnival. We will stay home every night.
(Child opens mouth to retort)
Me: I said not another word. 
(Child closes mouth.)

Now, I'm not so naive to think that this ends the matter. I know the subject will arise again, and with more scowls and grumps on her side, I can just picture the boo lip now, and more threats and Meanness on my side.

Who teaches them to do this?

The facts remain. That carnival is bloody expensive, and it is loud, and rude teenagers arrive after 8 PM, and I have to pawn my jewelry to buy food, and the rides make weird creaking sounds as the kids go on them. But I understand that it is the most important social event of the kid year, a sort of 7-year-old version of the prom, so I will take her.

Once.