nostalgia - not so much

I did it again. I said that I wouldn't, but, I was lured by the promise of fried dough. I was weak. I went to the fair. There are so many reasons that the fair only makes a stop in Cumberland once a year and the main one is so that we can all forget why we said that we will never go back there ever, ever again. My husband offered (actually, strongly insisted) that he drive, probably because he knew that we would get halfway there and I would pull a 180 in the middle of the road and bail on the whole outing altogether. He is wicked smart. My hand was on the door and I was ready to jump out of the moving vehicle and run all the way home (wee wee wee) until I saw the looks on the children's faces. I should suck it up and deal with my carnival issues and just go with the flow for once, right? Remember apple picking? I am never going to be the go with the flow kind of mom. As I was losing a battle with internal, nervous, neurotic Sarah and clutching the little hands of the blonde kids that I adore so much, the ticket lady waved at me with her dirty sausage fingers and invited me in to have fun. Please keep in mind that I am an equal opportunity person and that I, in no way, shape or form believe that I am better than anyone else on the entire green planet, but when I say that I am in awe of the people that I saw last night, I am in awe of the people that I saw last night. Do they travel with the fair? Were they beamed here from outer space? A large man with a ratty ponytail and an embellished Fedora sped past me on a Rascal scooter. I saw a toothless man with a lime green fur trimmed leopard spotted cowboy hat blowing bubbles (bubbles!) into a ticket booth. The air was heavy with funnel cakes, french fries and pheromones (oozing from teenaged females in tiny clothes and boys with a single purpose). I took my girls on the carosel, carosHELL is what it should have been called. I think that since it was bracelet night, the carnies (small hands...) had to speed up the long lines by speeding up (30 go rounds in 37 seconds) the rides. I was afraid that the horse my toddler was riding on was going to come of the track and catapault her into Falmouth! Thing 1 and Thing 2 wasted the remainder of their tickets on the Tropical Rock (climbing structure on the back of a lowboy) and emerged with tears, a dislocated shoulder and something sticky in their hair. No amount of hand sanitizer could fix this, ew. The father of this brood got spit on. We almost left with a bunny. We wasted time, money and nerves on this and do you know what? The kids can't wait to go back next year. No way. Nope. Maybe.

Newton's Law

You know when things always SEEM like a great idea and then (get ready for a real shocker), they turn out to be, well, not so great? We headed out for a super fun apple picking, perfect pumpkin choosing, get-the-best-family-Christmas-picture ever adventure. The weather was perfect (finally, sweaters!) and the kids were clean-ish (at least when we left the house), the cameras were charged and the moods were positively wonderful. As soon as we pulled into the crowded minivan filled parking lot, someone else joined the group - an uninvited guest. Do you know her? She looks nice enough at first glance, familiar even, but then, as the kids begin to run in different directions and she almost gets hit by a backing up Volvo and she twists her ankle 4 times tripping over rotten apples on the bumpy path that leads down to the ultimate selection of MacIntoshs, her left eye begins to twitch a tiny bit (the kind that only she can feel and no one else can see). She pleads to the short people to smile in unison for a photo and instead ends up with a memory card filled with "empty to trash" moments. A giant, pulsating vein pops out of her neck. The children fill a heaping bushel of fruit (a bushel is equal to 45 pounds and $93, I think) and now it's time for pumpkins and doughnuts and cider. The good old rule that we had when the offspring were smaller backfired on this day, because "if you can carry it, you can keep it" is more of a financial consequence when one's 8 year old has been taking his vitamins and he now has the strength of a full grown bull. (I think that the bumper of the van hit dragged on the pavement the entire ride home. On the bright side, we now have a viable entry for the heaviest vegetable category at the Cumberland Fair.) Crazy makes her final appearance in the form of eating a whole peanut butter whoopie pie in 2 bites and screaming to the family to "just get in the (insert silent explative) car!". So when I revisit the ideas of Sir Isaac Newton and imagine how he was able to draw such insightful, brilliant theories while sitting under an apple tree, I now believe that gravity was not discovered by mere accident. I think that he was beaned in the head by a small child swinging from the twisty branches high above him.

I don't even like bicycles...

Yet, here I am switching gears more often than Lance Armstrong in the thick of the Tour de France. This past weekend proved itself especially bizarro. I jumped from community theater practice (Carol Burnett style) to watching a suspense filled Jake Gyllenhaal flick to retail sales to listening to an 80's hair band (did you know that an 80's hair band actually means that these guys have lots of hair?? Complete with wind blowing machine even?) to more sales and then football watching (kind of). Everywhere I go and everything that I do lately, my first thoughts begin with my new favorite four-letter word: BLOG! I see myself pretending to be a phony invalid - blog. I see crazy mattress kicking customers - blog. Watching my mother watching the previously referenced movie - blog. Hair band and the groupies and the drunkards and the hair - holy Hannah, all the hair! - blog, blog, blog, blog. Also thrown into the loop, please insert: assistant wedding planner and chef, personal shopper, dog groomer and ballet costume designer. I am thinking that this checkered routine might look divine on my resume when I finally get a full-time paying gig in the workforce. What does everyone else do? Does anyone really only have one job anymore or do y'all have many hats that you wear each day? I function better in chaos, so this insanity suits me pretty well. I have to admit that I am horribly, easily distracted (I often joke that my little Emmy and I are like seagulls - if we see anything shiny or sparkly, we are gone!). I would like to think that I can focus and do just one something really well, but honestly, I don't know that I would ever be able to do just that. I am a loose synapse. I need a smidge of disarray. A splatter of havoc. And I need to blog it! Ooh - I found a quarter!

down low, low down, no doubt

Most of my days revolve around music. I can usually wake up in the morning and immediately know my theme. Today felt like Gwen Stefani - a little edgy, a skosh cranky and going to get a haircut equals girl powered by No Doubt. I fumbled around through the stack of CDs that litter the floor of my silver bullet MPV (must remember to watch out for winding turns and turkey crossing or they slide under the gas pedal) until I grabbed the right case. Those things should have brail on them or something so I don't have to take my eyes off the road quite so much or maybe I should figure out how to work the ipod (funny story for that gadget: father-in-law found it in the back of a cab in North Carolina, owners never claimed it, Sarah got herself a cool treat engraved with a undying love poem for Ted from Amby). Here's the important part with music in the car (not always station flipping appropriate because what if you had a bad song on stun and someone heard it and thought that you liked it?) - you need it really loud, it's part of the parcel. And you need to sing along really loudly (your kids might complain, but if the volume is adequate you won't be able to hear them anyway). After a few songs or your favorite song a few times, you will loosen up and you will feel the stress and tension or sadness and anger just melt away. Sure, people might laugh and point, but who cares? I guarantee that your imaginary audience is was more critical than anyone in real life anyway. When I see people singing and doing complicated steering wheel drum solos, I applaud - Hooray for you Mr. Never Gonna be the Lead for Led Zepplin and Madame Janet Doesn't Really Sound Like Jackson and me, Sarah not-Stefani (my vocals don't really resemble the likes of Ray LaMontagne and Stevie Wonder and Norah Jones, but if the windows are rolled up, who's gonna know?). I bet there would be fewer crazed, neurotic, psychotic, road raged lunatics if more people indulged in a little theme song therapy.

reality bites

The troops are almost settled back into the school schedule (although the long weekend set us back a smidge) and, surprisingly, I am finding more difficulty with the change of pace than I bargained for. I feel a bit like a whirling dervish and I am spinning in oblivion. My focus is gone and my motivation to clean and be productive is nonexistent. I am adjusted to the getting up and the making of breakfasts and lunches and helping with the wardrobe selections and ensuring that they brush their teeth and board the bus, but after that, after 8:30A, I am lost. I notice that I am on the phone an awful lot and I can waste a fair amount of time online (thanks to Boden and Facebook). The baby and I count down the hours for the big kids to come home. I thought that I would be thrilled with the peace and quiet, but not so much. I have had the opportunity to reflect upon what I have learned this past summer - baby guinea pigs do not, in fact, like the tub. But, if you are going to live here, baths are not an option, right? Unfortunately, it does not speak English, so there is little to no consoling this fuzzy creature (by the way - 1 guinea pig free to a good home. Or any home. Takers??) Also, hanging plants don't flourish if you forget to water them for 2 months - I should probably just throw those dead guys away, but they might make good Halloween decorations if I keep them up a little longer and then throw some fake spider webs on them. They do match nicely with my driveway that needs to be mowed and the toys strewn on the walkway (so sorry neighbors). I have gotten my money's worth from the state park pass and I made it to the Lobster Shack before the end of the season. We have had tons of fun, played hard and slept well (except for the really steamy nights as we still have no AC - we're tough Mainers). I suppose it's time for me to hunker down, dig out the fall sweaters that I have missed so dearly and get ready for - wait for it - the holidays (only 108 days until the fat man drops down the chimney)!