Funtown Splashtown USA is totally outside walmart - otherwise know as the foul underbelly of present southern Maine society. But the kids love it, so each summer we go, knowing full well that the soundtrack from 1992 will blare over the loud speakers and the bracelet on our right wrist will be a skosh too tight and we will all depart crying and sweaty and swearing (ok, maybe just me). Begrudgingly, I offered my money and my arm to be banded and took a map of my personal hell and a coupon for 50 cents off an arcade game I would never play. First stop - waterpark. After a thorough slathering of sunscreen on my palest blondies we marked our territory with beach towels and backpacks, kicked off our flip flops and climbed the watery stairs (OSHA hazard?) to the tallest slide atop the pirate structure only to be met with a tie-dyed t-shirted boy who was strategically perched over us with buckets of frigid water. Before I could move an inch, I was drenched by 2 buckets of polar ice cap runoff. Strike 1 boy. If only I could find his mother... And just then, I think I did.
I tried to calm and warm my freezing girls when I noticed a skinny, tattooed, nipple pierced man with 2 lady-ish companions light up cigarettes next to my lounge chair - right under the NO SMOKING sign. Directly under the sign. They could have reached up and touched the sign. I gave them the head shake. Nothing. Cleared my throat loudly and pointed above their heads. Nothing. "Um, excuse me, no smoking area." Nothing. Little more aggressive, after all, I paid as much to be here as these yahoos. "Hey, you - NO SMOKING area. Right here. No smoking." They laugh. With a firm and shaking finger now, "NO SMOKING!!" So I get up and grab the closest team member and tattled. Why is there even smoking at a childrens theme park? If people must smoke, they should have the most uncomfortable spot in the place - not in the shade near me. The smoking area should be located at the end of a long trek through the park and only reached upon completeing a miriade of torturous tasks: 1) Pirate Ship, 2) ingest 7 hot dogs, 3) Tilt-A-Whirl, 4) walk over hot coals, 5) arctic water bath,
6) climb the side emergency ladder on Dragon's Descent, 7) climb back down, and then, 8) go home to smoke. Sidenote - if you are ever feeling in the downy dumps about your life as a swimsuit non-model, look around. You are guaranteed to get a bit of a morale booster.
So next, we decided it might be fun to schlep 3 kids and 3 tubes up to the steepest point in the park. There is a blue carpet runner that funnels people up the ascension to the clouds that is supposed to prevent slipping, but I swear that I could hear bacteria breeding under my feet. (Please God, don't let us get a foot fungus... Please God, don't let us get a foot fungus...) As soon as the carpet ends, we are on scolding hot cement and let me tell you, there is not one drop of shade on this cemented beast of a fake mountain. But there is gum - lots of gum. I shouldn't have to say it, but as I am thinking it, I see Thing 2 reach for a pink piece stuck to the great wall. "Seriously? What is wrong with you child??" A shrug was the only answer. Now we are hot and the tubes are heavy because we have been in line for a good solid 47 minutes and as we are nearing the summit, I have a toddler clinging to my neck, a 6 year old in tears because she has changed her mind and 2 tubes in my hands. It was at my weakest moment that I noticed a sign - "No hats, --asses, or goggles on waterslide" Hehe.
Me: Hey, boy, look at the sign!
Thing 1: What sign? (he is 9 and always asks first before he looks)
Me: Right there. Read that sign, but not outloud.
Thing 1: Oh my gosh! I can't believe someone actually ripped off the "G" and the "L"! That should be glasses! Hey mom, you are wearing glasses.
Me: (blank stare) Yah, but it read it! It says (whisper) a bad word! It is funny. You get it? We all have those! Those are prohibitted! See why it is funny?
Thing 1: eye roll.
I really wanted to take a picture of the funny sign so I could send it to the Signspotting website I love, but we didn't have the camera (apparently those aren't allowed on the waterslide either) so I proposed to husband that when we are done with the slide, that he take a jog over to the backpack, retrieve the camera, climb the ramp, snap a shot, come back down and then I could have my funny picture. "No. I am not going to do that. I don't think you should either. That is stupid." I thought it was a brilliant plan. Bugger.
A quick change later and the kids are now starving, but not for cucumber slices from our garden or PB&Js or goldfish crackers or water. Not even close. They want crap. I glance around to see 96% of the amusement park population in a high fructose coma. Deep fried crap smothered in ketchup. Drinks named after colors instead of flavors. Ew. Sorry shorties, I just can't do it. So now, crying. "Bah! You never let us have anything good!" "Nectarines are yummy." Fortunately, I was able to distract them with a ride on the Wild Mouse - the worst for one who is a) afraid of heights and b) sharp drops and, 3) mice. On the inside, I yell, "I hate it here! Agh!!! Kill me now!!" And then I see death, or zombie-like strangers filing out of the Astrosphere ride, blinded by sunlight and choking on fresh air. They look worse than I feel. And so now I am done.
I head to the car with the girls while the boys go on one last ride. The air conditioner feels great and we wait patiently for the rest of our family so we can finally go home when the little one screams of a belly ache. I spring to the rescue with the portable potty because "my belly hurts!" usually is code for "I need to pee". Not pee. Diarrhea. In the potty. In the car. I contemplate leaving it under the car beside mine, but settle on just adjacent to my own vehicle. When husband returns from the final adventure, I fill him in on the poo problem and tell him about the plan to leave it all behind. Vetoed again. We gather the kids, buckle around the complaints of the smell, roll down the windows and drive to the nearest McD's to dispose of the parcel. Good thing the guy searching for returnables has already hit this can because, wow, that would not be a good surprise.
I am glad that we only have to go once a year, kind of like the fair, because I really hate it. Why do we subject ourselves to misery for our kids? Think I need 2 anti-crazy pills after a day like this...
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