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.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!

Dearest Aaron,
You are a gift to the world, a gentle, nurturing spirit that radiates love and warmth.  You're a blessing to me, as my best friend, my soul mate, someone with whom I laugh and grieve, and the best partner to parent our children. These past 16 years have been the best of my life, mostly (if not entirely) because you have been at my side.  I didn't know when I met you in your black leather jacket and combat boots, with your hair long in a pony tail, that you were a holy man, and would carefully guide me to God.  I didn't know that when you fell to your knee on the pier in Seattle that rainy New Year's Eve so long ago, asking to marry me, that you would become a strong, peaceful, funny and fun father that amazes me with your innate skills of parenting.  You work hard for this family, you set the tone, and the standard for each of us, challenging us to follow our hearts if we dare, and we each know that you do pray we do.  Your talents, wisdom and faith are immeasurable, and we are so very grateful that you are in the world, that there are good men like you doing what's right simply because it's right.  I'm ever grateful for you, my dear husband.  I thank God that you have been sent to walk this life at my side, to model to our boys what a real man is, to share your loyal and loving friendship with so many, and be such a bright light in my life and the lives of others.  I know God will bless you through your trials, and that you are getting set up to do what He has called you to do.  I'm honored to be your wife, blessed beyond words to be your friend, and humbled by the goodness that is you through and through.  God bless your year, sweetheart, and have a very happy birthday!

A Day at the Beach

Along the Columbia River is a vintage little fishing town named Astoria, and in that town is a humble pub that brews their own beer and makes killer burgers.  It's hard to find if you're not looking for it, easy to miss, tucked away along a dead-end side street down near the docks.  We've been taking Aaron to the Wet Dog Cafe for Father's Day for the last six years, since I was round and ready to burst with Andres, a prequel to many future Father's Days.  We've always looked forward to the trip, stopping in for their and bacon cheese burgers and award-winning IPA brews.  The trip is then usually rounded out with a jaunt twenty minutes further down the road to Seaside, where we stroll through the quaint shops, go down to the beach and get our feet wet in the ocean.  On our way out, we stop at the little creamery and have a vanilla cone.  Nothing big and fancy, but the Papa gets his beer, the kids get their ice cream and we all get time together, building on our own little family tradition.  This Father's Day, however, we were flat-out broke, and had to wait a month before we were able to give Papa his much-deserved Wet Dog treat.  But, oh boy, it was well worth the wait.

Aaron and I with Andres at Fort Steven's Beach, Father's Day 2006, just after our first visit to Wet Dog in Astoria.

The goal is always to be in the car by nine, and this morning we didn't make it until a quarter after ten.  The fridge was empty, and the boys were cranking, so as Aaron gassed up the car for the trip at Chevron, I snuck in to get the boys their first-ever gas station breakfast of mini powdered donuts.  At first they didn't know what to think of them, the white powder was sort of messy, and they had never seen donuts so little.  But, upon their first taste, it was love, sheer love, and they nibbled in silence in the back seat as we set off for Astoria, their lips coated creamy white, their eyes sparkling with joy.

I love Raph's expression.  Is this not sheer adoration, here?  Oh, little white donut, how do I love thee?

"These are awesome, Mom!"

We made it to Astoria just in time to hit the cafe with the lunch crowd and Papa got his long-desired beer and burger.  Then, with bellies full, and Raphie fussing because it's nap time and there's no nap in sight, we loaded up to hit the beach.

Before we got the water, though, we thought it would be fun to visit the aquarium first.  Andres loved the aquarium in Newport last summer, smitten as he was with the shark tunnel, and although the aquarium in Seaside is tiny, it still had some fun features like the fully-intact Gray whale skeleton, sea lions you can feed, the gorgeous vermillion colored Giant Pacific Octopus, and dime-sized hermit crabs that scuttle across the palm of your hand.

But the coolest part was that amazing octopus.  They're one of the most clever creatures in the sea, and we caught this lovely lady dancing along the bottom of her tank.  She put on quite a show for us, her long arms moving like ribbons in the water.

TO THE BEACH!

This is my entire world right here: my guys.

Once we reached the sand, Andres dropped to make castles and moats.  Had lavish cities, and elaborate characters instantly.  He found seagull feathers, crab legs, pieces of seashells, and brittle seaweed all playing parts in his drama.

The perpetual problem with Raph and water is that he's like a baby turtle, or some marine-speeding porpoise.  He smells salt water, spins his head around to the sound of roaring waves, and without any qualms or misgivings, he rushes into the water with squeals of delights and the biggest smile on his face, and to my horror submerges completely under.

He's like me in that way.  I have always loved water and especially the ocean, and swimming was never, ever an issue for me.  I don't know how old I was (8?10? 23?) when I finally realized (with much dismay) that my legs didn't actually conjoin into a fishtail in salt water like the mermaid on Splash.  Raph is that way.  He wants flippers and gills!  By the time Aaron or I rescue him, he bursts to the surface gasping for air and coughing up water, sometimes lathered in sand mud or wrapped like a mummy in seaweed, but there is his ever-present smile and eager, wild-looking eyes.  On this particular day Aaron played the goalie, keeping Raphael from being swelled into the sea.

Eventually AJ joined Raph in the surf. 

Both boys had birthday money from Aunt Jodie that they were able to spend at the toy store.

Andres found "Sharkie" right away.  Later he found a boomerang, like Sokka, a favorite cartoon character.

Look at that very content smile.  A yellow boomerang and a plush Great White to snuggle up with at night.

Did someone miss a nap?  At five p.m. Raph was just tanked.  He got a little car.  

After toys, we splurged at the Ice Cream Shoppe, then loaded up for home. 

Vanilla cream and salt water sand.  What a perfect cherub, my Raphael.