File 23 - In the Backyard, Living Our Best Lives

"Okay, well we will be in the backyard, living our best lives."  This was my husband and I, talking to the littles, on Canada Day. It was early afternoon, on the most gorgeous day, and the boys had decided that they were done with being outside and that they wanted to watch TV and play on their video games. In all fairness, it had been a hectic morning.

I love my country.  And I want to celebrate it.  But, I am more of a - let's have a couple of people over, have a few drinks and lots of food, in the backyard - type of patriot.  Crowds aren't really my jam.  However, I couldn't deny my kids the experience of seeing everyone in their reds and whites.  To smell the fried food and cotton candy.  Can we take a moment out to give thanks for the carnival food?  OMG - burgers, hot dogs, poutine, oh my!!!  And now my stomach is growling like a rabid beast.  Down boy!  Down!  And how can we forget, a chance to ride on the sketchy AF rides, that are set up, in what?  A matter of hours? Minutes?  I shudder to think.

We figured, our best bet, would be to go in the morning, before it got too hot and too crowded. At first,  my youngest was having none of the metal horror machines. In usual form, my oldest was the complete opposite, and wanted to go on every single ride.  In the midst of the delicious offerings and preschool indifference, we were forced into a divide and conquer situation.  And that is how I ended up in line, for the most wretched and creeky looking ferris wheel, I have ever seen.  Next thing I know, Anxiety slaps me across the face.  Remember, you are terrified of heights??? Oh shit!  I desperately scan the crowd for my hubby. We can just switch places and swap kids.  He...was...nowhere.  Motherf**ker.

Clink.  A gentleman, who may or may not look like a serial killer, swings open the gate and motions us forward.  The sun sinks behind a cloud and the grotesque circular form looms ahead of us.  We climb into the bucket and the guy slams the door.  Why is he smiling at me?  Does he know something I don't?  Then, he either grunted or said "Have fun", under his breathe.  W...T...F?  Before I can run off this thing screaming, we start moving.  I feel my stomach drop into my butt.  You know what I am talking about.... The gripping fear, that forces your stomach to hide in your butt?   I grip the side, with one arm, and lock my little, under my other arm.  Why does this f**king thing have to rock so much?  Why does my baby have to squirm so much?  And of course, it wouldn't be truly "fun", if it didn't stop at the top.  I mean, when else would you have time to contemplate the integrity of the bolts holding you in place or the last time anyone may have actually checked that.  I know that psychopath who let us on, had something to do with this.  I looked at my little and smiled, as best I could.  Every muscle in my body, locked in place, and my teeth clenched.  I am sure it looked super natural.  Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was literally 3 minutes, it was time to get off.

The gentleman, who no longer looked anything like a serial killer, helped us off, when the nightmare was over.  We wave like old friends, as we walk away.  What a nice guy!  Next, to the teacups, where we met up with the deserter and youngest little.  This one was a hard no for me, or more specifically, a hell no, for me.  We waited 20 minutes, for the boys to get spun around, in a literal teacup, until my oldest was killing himself laughing and my youngest was green.  Humans are funny.  After a couple more rides, the heat from the concrete, the rides and the crowd became too much, for all of us.  Time to backyard party it up!

So, my hubby and I prepped some food.  We poured ourselves a drink.  We headed outside to sit in our kids' pool and celebrate our country - Neurotic Mama style.  The kids were having none of it, in that moment.  And that was okay. We knew they would come around, eventually.

"Okay, well we will be in the backyard, living our best lives."

Does Mommy need to lose her shit?

Not this week.