A Day at the Fair

Aaron and I grew up capping off our summers by going to the Central Washington Sate Fair in Yakima every September.  I loved to watch the sweethearts in Keds and zippered jeans holding hands, or the gangsters with their hair nets clustering under the Hammer trying to look cool under their dark sunglasses.  I was always with my family, and somewhat hindered by the utter un-coolness they brought me.  Although my style was crimped, I was dazzled by the annual trip to the fair.  

There were the wonderful FFA exhibits of grain and produce, the award winning pumpkins that needed cranes to hoist them into place, the witty-looking goats that liked it when you scratched their flanks, and the variety of horses that made me miss Louie.  I loved the majestic Clydesdales with their long flowing fetlocks of white hair around their massive hooves, and the enchanting Frisians with their long, black wavy manes that looked more mermaid hair than horse.  Being a cowgirl who favored the simple cattle-driving quarter horses, I found the Arabians snobby and aloof with their ancient-bred bodies designed to race in desert sand.  And the Thoroughbreds, prancing daintily on long legs in their tidy English saddles just about pushed me over the edge.  But I walked through the stables admiring them all nonetheless.

Yes, I even loved the fair food, the elephant ears, the corn dogs, the curly fries.  I remember one year a booth selling exotic Bier Roks, German turnovers, that were amazing beer-dough dumplings stuffed with ground beef, cabbage, and onions.  I loved the sounds of games, whistles, horns, bells, the Classic Rock music playing from the rides.  Queen.  Bad English.  Pink Floyd.  Anyone with a mullet and guitar was heard blaring from the speakers.  And at night, when the early autumn air turned chilly with the aromas of caramel apples, popcorn, and fallen leaves that forced your hands deep into your pockets as you waited in lines for rides, the brightly colored carnival lights turned on and some kind of magic fell over the fair.  It was the last big hurrah of summer, the glorious finale to the days of swimming pools, laying in the grass under the stars hunting satellites in their orbits, lighting fireworks, playing with cousins, road trips, sleeping in, fishing, inner-tubing on the river, BBQs, riding bareback in alpha alpha fields, and croquet in the sun-warmed yard.  The fair was to me a sign of seasons changing, endings and renewals.  Something to lament, and yet something thrilling, a strange sort of paradox.

It was a rare moment when Aaron (usually more financially conservative than I) called me from work to remind me the fair was ending this weekend.  He and I have the same warm memories of the Yakima Fair.  Since we didn't go last year due to financial restraints we needed to make it happen this year, or else we allow another year to pass and the boys would miss this rich experience.  

So early Saturday morning I made chorizo burritos for a car ride breakfast and loaded up for  Ridgefield.  The fair here is smaller by far than the one we knew growing up, and I've always been disappointed for the lack of horses shown (they make up for horses in llamas, for some reason) but it was the fair.  And our boys are little yet, and the world is full of fairs of all kinds.  This was just the start.  A reference point.  A day of making memories with our little family.  A treasure for me and Aaron to see our little puppies relish the whole-body experience of the sights, sounds, smells, food, and fun the fair had to offer.  

Admiring the blue-ribbon baked goods...they are my boys, after all. 

As the only girl in the family, I demanded gently encouraged the guys to humor me and mosey through the prize winning flowers.  They were good sports about it.

The petting zoo was a hit, the boys loved feeding the llamas and goats.

Raphael was adorable with his little mouth open miming parents feeding babies oatmeal.  

Raph is our animal lover. 

I love how he's gently cradling the sheep's head here.  What a love!

Let me say that the jumping house was a hit.  The boys found it wildly fun, and Raph especially revelled in unrestricted jumping.  

BUT.  

When time was up and the Jumping House Regulator (guy in hat) instructed the jumpers to exit, Raph scurried to the farthest corner inside the house, refusing to come out as Aaron coaxed at first gently, then sternly, finally crawling in and grabbing the child by his foot to pull him out.  Then what followed could only be described Mom and Dad's Moment of Humiliation.  Let me break it down:

But it was a beautiful day.

Look at Raph's smile.  It was the ride of his life!  Aaron is praying to God that the roller coaster doesn't careen off the rails.  

Me and my handsome guy on the roller coaster.  

Aaron and I are not ride-goers.  We were absolutely terrified on this ride.  I had my eyes smashed shut the entire time and here Andres has his hands over his head...a real daredevil.

My handsome boy.

At first he didn't want to get on the merry go round, until he noticed there was a "maow" with a "wah-wah" in it's mouth.

He loved it!

They loved the motorcycle ride!

Look at those faces!  Raph just made this precious expression that was rather coy and contained.  Andres was just so elated to be "driving a real motorcycle." 

It may have been the highlight of their day...until it ended...and then...

...the insurgence cycle started again.

When we got home for the fair we were shocked to see our corner of the street completely barricaded by seven (7!!) squad cars.  We rushed the boys into the house for naps then slipped back outside to question our neighbor who was also standing out side to see what was going down in our otherwise very dull and peaceful little neighborhood.

Aaron bravely getting the mail. 

Then we saw THIS, cops with large weapons and shields and helmets rushing to the house down the street.  By this time a large crowd had gathered across the street to watch the drama.  Apparently it was a domestic violence issue and the police didn't know if it was a hostage situation, or not.  It turned out no one was even home, and the cops left about three hours later.  But it was enough for us to stay inside our house until the boys woke up.

When they woke up  from their naps they played in the pool because it was HOT outside.

All my boys hanging out in the yard on a hot summer day.

Then Papa BBQ'd hotdogs, and we sliced up some watermelon, and just savored the end of a wonderful day together.

I love how Raphael is so sporty.  He loves football and he knows instinctually that the helmet and ball go together if for no other reason then they coordinate, but he has his own special way to wear the head gear.

Before baths Papa got out the Otter Pops.  The essence of summertime when Aaron and I were little.

They are so creative with the way they combine toys to invent amazing new play things.  There it's a spaceship.

After baths we deferred the normal story and bedtimes for a special Stay Up Late To Watch The Last Night Of The Olympics.  We made them a little nest to snuggle into with popped corn Andres had won at the fair and some Reeses Pieces.  They were up two hours past normal bedtime to watch TV, something they never, ever get to do after Sesame Street in the morning.  It was such a special day!

As the night grew darker, and their eyes grew heavy from the day's loaded events, the nest relocated from the floor to my lap.  I wouldn't have had it end any other way.