Tom has really done a great job with our garden this year. I call it ‘our’ garden, but really, it’s his. He’s done the work, he’s getting the glory.
Even though most of our area suffered quite a drought this summer, he managed to keep the garden watered enough to keep the tomato, pepper, green bean, cucumber, watermelon, corn, zucchini and pumpkin plants alive.
And as those plants come to fruition, Tom’s work has only increased. Over the weekend, he canned green beans, salsa and tomatoes. He’s borrowed my mom’s Salad Shooter at least three times so he can shred zucchini and freeze it for future (read: winter) use.
I’m really glad he’s so willing to do all this work because if it were up to me? That stuff would probably be rotting on the vine.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy fresh vegetables (I’m sorry, but I can’t shorten that word the way most do, it’s an irritant of mine.) I do, I love tomato sandwiches and cucumber slices. The watermelon we picked last night from the garden was wonderful.
But the time and effort necessary for canning? Is more than I can handle. Using a pressure-cooker for just seven quarts of green beans takes hours. A hot-water-bath for tomatoes takes even longer.
I am lucky that Tom is so willing to put the time and work into these projects. For years he’s admired my mom’s pantry, filled to the brim with lovely jars of green beans, peaches, black berry jam, homemade salsa, tomato juice, tomatoes, etc.
As he’s admired these things he’s hinted that I should learn this art from my mother. Each time, I suggested he shove the canner…ahem, that is, I suggested that when I no longer worked forty-plus hours outside the home, I’d be more than willing to take up this wonderfully domestic hobby.
Alas, that is not going to happen anytime soon and so Tom took it upon himself to learn to can the bounty that his garden is producing.
And no, I am not above enjoying the fruits of his labor this winter when the snow is falling and I want some chips and salsa.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Schedules
Olivia has become obsessed with schedules in the past few weeks. I think it may have come about when I took a few days off in July and then a couple of weeks later, took another couple of days off, the poor kid didn’t know what was coming from one day to the next.
So each evening, as we getting ready for bed, she’ll ask what she’ll be doing the next day.
I think she just wants to know who is going to be taking care of her. So I always tell her whether it’s going to be a Grammy day, a Daddy day or a Mommy day.
It sort of hurts my heart the way her eyes light up and her face breaks into a smile each time I tell her that the next day is a Mommy day. It only hurts because I know how much she’d like it if every day could be Mommy day. Sadly, we can’t quite swing that so instead, I use my vacation days as wisely as I can.
And honestly, she enjoys her Daddy days and Grammy days as much as she enjoys the Mommy days.
She always wants to know if Lyssie is going to be wherever she, Livie, is the next day. She likes having her sister around these days. I like that they’re both at an age where they actually want to be together, doing things with each other.
I’m almost sorry that school starts back up next week. Almost. I’m more glad for the routine the girls will have, for the knowledge they’ll both be gaining, for the therapies O will be receiving.
Schedules are a good thing.
So each evening, as we getting ready for bed, she’ll ask what she’ll be doing the next day.
I think she just wants to know who is going to be taking care of her. So I always tell her whether it’s going to be a Grammy day, a Daddy day or a Mommy day.
It sort of hurts my heart the way her eyes light up and her face breaks into a smile each time I tell her that the next day is a Mommy day. It only hurts because I know how much she’d like it if every day could be Mommy day. Sadly, we can’t quite swing that so instead, I use my vacation days as wisely as I can.
And honestly, she enjoys her Daddy days and Grammy days as much as she enjoys the Mommy days.
She always wants to know if Lyssie is going to be wherever she, Livie, is the next day. She likes having her sister around these days. I like that they’re both at an age where they actually want to be together, doing things with each other.
I’m almost sorry that school starts back up next week. Almost. I’m more glad for the routine the girls will have, for the knowledge they’ll both be gaining, for the therapies O will be receiving.
Schedules are a good thing.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Social Security
My dad and my sister hold very similar views about getting what one can from the government. They both feel that if something is available, one should be getting it.
My sister, for example, is 44 years old and has received governmental assistance most of her adult life. She feels that since it is there, she’s entitled to it. She went on a bit of a rage this past weekend because there was some sort of mix up at a doctor’s appointment and she was forced to spend $200 of her own cash to pay for something that the government should have paid for. And then, to add insult to her injury (imagined, perhaps?) she was denied an increase to her monthly allowed food stamps when she asked for it to compensate for her having to pay her own medical bill.
I’m sure my own bias is coming through pretty clearly here.
After her little rant about welfare, Sister asked me if we were receiving social security benefits for Olivia. I said no.
She asked me why we aren’t.
I didn’t feel like going into detail so I just said I hadn’t gotten around to filling out the paperwork.
She reminded me that with O’s diagnosis, she is automatically approved for benefits and I should be getting the assistance and perhaps banking it for Olivia’s future if we don’t need it to provide for her day to day care right now.
And maybe she’s right but it doesn’t feel right to me. We don’t need government assistance to live our lives. We don’t need help with O’s medical bills because she doesn’t have any other than the occasional $25 co-pay for an office visit. We see her developmental pediatrician once every two years. We see the regular doctor a couple of times a year or when she has a cold or injury bad enough to warrant it.
Sister reminded me that social security and Medicaid would also provide me with travel money for when we have to trek down to Indianapolis for O’s afore mentioned every other yearly developmental ped appointment.
But…I don’t NEED travel assistance. I realize how lucky we are, how blessed, that we don’t need help, that we don’t need financial assistance to travel or even to pay what little medical bills we have. I also know how lucky we are NOT to have major medical expenses. I get, too, that there are people who do need this and I appreciate that the assistance is there for those people but for those of us to take it when we don’t need it feels wrong to me.
I feel like it feeds into the whole entitlement thing and makes me cringe. Sister feels entitled to assistance to the point that she won’t get a job because doing so would cut into her aid. She can make more money through welfare than she could if she got a job.
That makes me crazy if only because I’ve worked since I was sixteen years old, I’ve been paying into the system all these years so that people who WON’T work can cash in on the system.
So maybe we should be getting social security benefits for Olivia if only because Tom and I have paid in for so long and it would be nice if one of our kids benefitted from our hard work.
I don’t know.
What I do know is I’m tired of both my dad and my sister pressuring me to do something I’m not sure I feel right about doing. But hey, my passive-aggressive tendancies pay off in instances like this. I sit there, listening to their ‘logic’, nodding as if I agree and then, when they’re done, I go about my life the way I feel is best. No confrontations, no discomfort, they feel like they’ve been heard and perhaps even changed my mind with their 'thought-provoking' monologues and I continue to do what I want without bothering to justify my choices. In the end, why my family (which includes, Tom, me and the girls) does what it does is really not any of their business.
My sister, for example, is 44 years old and has received governmental assistance most of her adult life. She feels that since it is there, she’s entitled to it. She went on a bit of a rage this past weekend because there was some sort of mix up at a doctor’s appointment and she was forced to spend $200 of her own cash to pay for something that the government should have paid for. And then, to add insult to her injury (imagined, perhaps?) she was denied an increase to her monthly allowed food stamps when she asked for it to compensate for her having to pay her own medical bill.
I’m sure my own bias is coming through pretty clearly here.
After her little rant about welfare, Sister asked me if we were receiving social security benefits for Olivia. I said no.
She asked me why we aren’t.
I didn’t feel like going into detail so I just said I hadn’t gotten around to filling out the paperwork.
She reminded me that with O’s diagnosis, she is automatically approved for benefits and I should be getting the assistance and perhaps banking it for Olivia’s future if we don’t need it to provide for her day to day care right now.
And maybe she’s right but it doesn’t feel right to me. We don’t need government assistance to live our lives. We don’t need help with O’s medical bills because she doesn’t have any other than the occasional $25 co-pay for an office visit. We see her developmental pediatrician once every two years. We see the regular doctor a couple of times a year or when she has a cold or injury bad enough to warrant it.
Sister reminded me that social security and Medicaid would also provide me with travel money for when we have to trek down to Indianapolis for O’s afore mentioned every other yearly developmental ped appointment.
But…I don’t NEED travel assistance. I realize how lucky we are, how blessed, that we don’t need help, that we don’t need financial assistance to travel or even to pay what little medical bills we have. I also know how lucky we are NOT to have major medical expenses. I get, too, that there are people who do need this and I appreciate that the assistance is there for those people but for those of us to take it when we don’t need it feels wrong to me.
I feel like it feeds into the whole entitlement thing and makes me cringe. Sister feels entitled to assistance to the point that she won’t get a job because doing so would cut into her aid. She can make more money through welfare than she could if she got a job.
That makes me crazy if only because I’ve worked since I was sixteen years old, I’ve been paying into the system all these years so that people who WON’T work can cash in on the system.
So maybe we should be getting social security benefits for Olivia if only because Tom and I have paid in for so long and it would be nice if one of our kids benefitted from our hard work.
I don’t know.
What I do know is I’m tired of both my dad and my sister pressuring me to do something I’m not sure I feel right about doing. But hey, my passive-aggressive tendancies pay off in instances like this. I sit there, listening to their ‘logic’, nodding as if I agree and then, when they’re done, I go about my life the way I feel is best. No confrontations, no discomfort, they feel like they’ve been heard and perhaps even changed my mind with their 'thought-provoking' monologues and I continue to do what I want without bothering to justify my choices. In the end, why my family (which includes, Tom, me and the girls) does what it does is really not any of their business.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Overprotective
I tend to err on the side of hovering. I don’t think I’m quite a helicopter mom (do we even use that phrase anymore or have we changed it to attachment parenting? Hmmm…)
But yes, I tend to hover.
I can’t help it. They’re my bayyyybeeees.
Ahem. Right.
So I attended a family gathering this weekend. It was family from my dad’s side. Which means I’m not close to any of these people. For the record, my dad is the tenth of ten children, so he’s the same age as my first cousins who are his nieces and nephews. So no, not close.
My half-sister was there with her twenty-six year old daughter.
I don’t see my sister very often. She was raised by her mother, I was raised by mine. We’re half-siblings in the fullest extent of the phrase. I always felt more like she was a distant cousin than a sibling.
Her daughter is…weird. Seriously weird. When she was younger and they’d visit, this girl would sidle up to me and then lean. Just lean against me. She very much enjoyed hugging too. It was creepy. Thankfully, she’s outgrown the hugging and leaning but not so much the weirdness.
I asked her if she was working, knowing the answer already. She smirked and said, “No. I admit it, I’m lazy.”
Did I mention she’s twenty six years old. 26!!! She’s never, ever held a job because, as she said, she’s lazy.
As her older, bossier aunt, I should have returned her smirk and replied, “Wow, that’s something to be proud of.”
Instead, I just said, “Yes, a lot of people are lazy but find they have to work anyway to pay bills, buy groceries, have a home…”
During all this, Alyssa and Olivia was sitting on me. Yes, both of them were ON TOP of me. And I wasn’t complaining much.
My sister came up and asked, “Is this something you’re doing to have to put up with your whole life?”
She was talking about their shyness, they’re clinginess.
I just shrugged. “They come by it naturally,” I said. “I was the same way with my mom and I outgrew it in time to perform in the school plays my senior year.”
But you know what? I should have laughed in her face and said, “They’re NINE and FIVE years old. They’re still children. What is your daughter’s excuse?!”
But I’m a fairly non-confrontational person, so I didn’t say what I should have. I just sat and listened to her bitch about Indiana’s screwed up welfare system and how she shouldn’t have to beg for food stamps at the ripe old age of 44 years old. Did I mention she doesn’t work either?
But I don’t really want to go into a rant about welfare and how I feel like it’s there to help people get back on their feet rather than to actually support people for life.
Right, not ranting…
So yes, I appear to be a bit overprotective. Alyssa attended a birthday party yesterday and when she got home, she said her friend and a couple of the other guests wanted to ride bikes around town but the guest of honor’s mom suggested that I might not want Alyssa to do that. And she was right. I don’t live in town, I don’t know the people there. I dropped my nine year old off at a house where a party was being held. I appreciated that the mom chose to make my child stay at that house for the duration of the party.
If that’s overprotective, so be it. I won’t apologize for that.
While at Cedar Point neither Alyssa nor her friend were ever out of my mom’s or my sight. I don’t think that is necessarily overprotective so much as it’s common sense. They’re young girls who need to be watched, to be protected. That’s my job as a parent. And as Alyssa and Olivia get older, I’ll teach them to make good choices, to be aware of their surroundings and the people they’re choosing as friends. And then I’ll pray because I know I won’t be able to over protect either of them forever and that scares the crap out of me.
But yes, I tend to hover.
I can’t help it. They’re my bayyyybeeees.
Ahem. Right.
So I attended a family gathering this weekend. It was family from my dad’s side. Which means I’m not close to any of these people. For the record, my dad is the tenth of ten children, so he’s the same age as my first cousins who are his nieces and nephews. So no, not close.
My half-sister was there with her twenty-six year old daughter.
I don’t see my sister very often. She was raised by her mother, I was raised by mine. We’re half-siblings in the fullest extent of the phrase. I always felt more like she was a distant cousin than a sibling.
Her daughter is…weird. Seriously weird. When she was younger and they’d visit, this girl would sidle up to me and then lean. Just lean against me. She very much enjoyed hugging too. It was creepy. Thankfully, she’s outgrown the hugging and leaning but not so much the weirdness.
I asked her if she was working, knowing the answer already. She smirked and said, “No. I admit it, I’m lazy.”
Did I mention she’s twenty six years old. 26!!! She’s never, ever held a job because, as she said, she’s lazy.
As her older, bossier aunt, I should have returned her smirk and replied, “Wow, that’s something to be proud of.”
Instead, I just said, “Yes, a lot of people are lazy but find they have to work anyway to pay bills, buy groceries, have a home…”
During all this, Alyssa and Olivia was sitting on me. Yes, both of them were ON TOP of me. And I wasn’t complaining much.
My sister came up and asked, “Is this something you’re doing to have to put up with your whole life?”
She was talking about their shyness, they’re clinginess.
I just shrugged. “They come by it naturally,” I said. “I was the same way with my mom and I outgrew it in time to perform in the school plays my senior year.”
But you know what? I should have laughed in her face and said, “They’re NINE and FIVE years old. They’re still children. What is your daughter’s excuse?!”
But I’m a fairly non-confrontational person, so I didn’t say what I should have. I just sat and listened to her bitch about Indiana’s screwed up welfare system and how she shouldn’t have to beg for food stamps at the ripe old age of 44 years old. Did I mention she doesn’t work either?
But I don’t really want to go into a rant about welfare and how I feel like it’s there to help people get back on their feet rather than to actually support people for life.
Right, not ranting…
So yes, I appear to be a bit overprotective. Alyssa attended a birthday party yesterday and when she got home, she said her friend and a couple of the other guests wanted to ride bikes around town but the guest of honor’s mom suggested that I might not want Alyssa to do that. And she was right. I don’t live in town, I don’t know the people there. I dropped my nine year old off at a house where a party was being held. I appreciated that the mom chose to make my child stay at that house for the duration of the party.
If that’s overprotective, so be it. I won’t apologize for that.
While at Cedar Point neither Alyssa nor her friend were ever out of my mom’s or my sight. I don’t think that is necessarily overprotective so much as it’s common sense. They’re young girls who need to be watched, to be protected. That’s my job as a parent. And as Alyssa and Olivia get older, I’ll teach them to make good choices, to be aware of their surroundings and the people they’re choosing as friends. And then I’ll pray because I know I won’t be able to over protect either of them forever and that scares the crap out of me.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Oh Mom...
When we last saw O's developmental pediatrician, she gave us some great advice on potty training. This was back in May of 2011. Olivia was four and a half at the time and was struggling with potty training. She'd gone through a good stage but then lost steam for awhile.
Her doctor suggested that anytime Olivia said she had to pee, we come up with a phrase that would keep O from peeing in her pants.
We decided to say, "Don't come out, Livie's peepee, don't come out."
Then, once she was on the toilet, we'd tell her, "Come on out, Livie's peepee, come on out."
And what do you know? It worked.
We're to the point where we're shopping for a new couch because we've gone a year without anyone in our house peeing on the furniture. We celebrate the small things, don't you know?
Anyway, while I don't usually tell O's peepee not to come out when she announces she has to pee, I can still be heard saying, "Come on out, Livie's peepee."
And these days, she looks at me from her perch on the toilet, rolls her eyes and says, "Oh Mom."
I think she's over needing the prompts we learned from her doctor. Her muscles have been trained when to hold in the pee (and poop!! Wheee!) and when to let it go.
What an amazing thing.
I know children are potty trained every day all over the world but my kid, she's special, you know. She didn't always the control, the awareness.
We got really, really lucky when we were matched to her developmental pediatrician when O was two years old. I'll be sure and tell the doctor that when we see her again in May 2013.
Her doctor suggested that anytime Olivia said she had to pee, we come up with a phrase that would keep O from peeing in her pants.
We decided to say, "Don't come out, Livie's peepee, don't come out."
Then, once she was on the toilet, we'd tell her, "Come on out, Livie's peepee, come on out."
And what do you know? It worked.
We're to the point where we're shopping for a new couch because we've gone a year without anyone in our house peeing on the furniture. We celebrate the small things, don't you know?
Anyway, while I don't usually tell O's peepee not to come out when she announces she has to pee, I can still be heard saying, "Come on out, Livie's peepee."
And these days, she looks at me from her perch on the toilet, rolls her eyes and says, "Oh Mom."
I think she's over needing the prompts we learned from her doctor. Her muscles have been trained when to hold in the pee (and poop!! Wheee!) and when to let it go.
What an amazing thing.
I know children are potty trained every day all over the world but my kid, she's special, you know. She didn't always the control, the awareness.
We got really, really lucky when we were matched to her developmental pediatrician when O was two years old. I'll be sure and tell the doctor that when we see her again in May 2013.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Teachable Moments
I'm not always aware of moments that I can turn into memories and moments when I can teach my girls by example.
But today, while at Walmart (where else?) I was able to use a moment of embarrassment and make it a lesson for Alyssa.
We were walking along the aisle just beyond the registers. There was a trashcan in the aisle. It was probably 18 inches tall. From experience, I knew it was probably there to catch water that was leaking from the roof.
Alyssa, in her finite 9 year old wisdom, thought it was a good idea to try to leap over the bucket.
She knocked it over and spilled the water that had been inside it.
I set the trashcan back up and caught the eye of one of the cashiers. She smiled and said she'd get someone to clean it up.
I guided Alyssa away from the mess and paused to explain that incidences like that are why we don't go about leaping over things in public. At home? Okay, fine. But while in public, we can't always know why they'd put the trashcan right in the middle of an aisle.
She was embarrassed by her behavior and chose to climb into the cart a bit later.
It wasn't really that big a deal but it was a chance to remind her that sometimes, she needs to reign in her impulses. That thinking about how her actions might affect others is always a good thing.
I'm just glad she's willing to listen to me and that I was able to retain my own sense of humor in a moment of embarrassment. I didn't yell at her, I didn't go beyond what was necessary as I talked to her.
And it was over and forgotten while retaining the lesson (I hope) within about five minutes.
It's moments like that when I think I might be doing okay at this whole mom thing.
But today, while at Walmart (where else?) I was able to use a moment of embarrassment and make it a lesson for Alyssa.
We were walking along the aisle just beyond the registers. There was a trashcan in the aisle. It was probably 18 inches tall. From experience, I knew it was probably there to catch water that was leaking from the roof.
Alyssa, in her finite 9 year old wisdom, thought it was a good idea to try to leap over the bucket.
She knocked it over and spilled the water that had been inside it.
I set the trashcan back up and caught the eye of one of the cashiers. She smiled and said she'd get someone to clean it up.
I guided Alyssa away from the mess and paused to explain that incidences like that are why we don't go about leaping over things in public. At home? Okay, fine. But while in public, we can't always know why they'd put the trashcan right in the middle of an aisle.
She was embarrassed by her behavior and chose to climb into the cart a bit later.
It wasn't really that big a deal but it was a chance to remind her that sometimes, she needs to reign in her impulses. That thinking about how her actions might affect others is always a good thing.
I'm just glad she's willing to listen to me and that I was able to retain my own sense of humor in a moment of embarrassment. I didn't yell at her, I didn't go beyond what was necessary as I talked to her.
And it was over and forgotten while retaining the lesson (I hope) within about five minutes.
It's moments like that when I think I might be doing okay at this whole mom thing.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Recovery
Back in high school, our marching band took a trip to Cedar Point. It was great fun. But then, I've thought Cedar Point was great fun from the first time I ever went, way back during the summer of 1980, when I was nine years old.
The biggest downer of that trip with my high school marching band was this one friend who refused to ride even the tamest of rides. She didn't want to spin, she didn't want to go up high, she absolutely didn't want to go up high while spinning and roller coasters? Forget it.
And yet, she got mad at the rest of us because we wanted to go on all the thrill rides. She fretted that she was being left out and whined when we went on the rides anyway, leaving her on a bench by the exits.
It was bad enough that she was having a lousy time at the park, but she wanted the rest of us to be as miserable as she was. She was pissed that we refused to let her ruin our day.
My mom and I took Alyssa and a friend of Alyssa's to Cedar Point yesterday. It was the perfect day for a visit to the amusement park.
The temps stayed moderate, the cloudcover kept the sun from burning us and it was a Thursday in August, which worked in our favor by keeping the crowd low and the lines short.
A's friend has been to Cedar Point several times. She said her first time was when she was six.
Which, fine. Good for her. Yay and all that jazz.
Except...when kids are six, their parents have to explain to them that the bigger, more thrilling rides are too big and too thrilling. They (the parents) may even tell the kids that the rides are too scary for them.
Which in turn, leads a ten year old girl to be afraid of riding the race horse carousel because it's too fast.
Seriously.
After we convinced her try the stupid carousel, and after I rode the ride on the same horse with her, she realized it wasn't so fast nor so scary. She and Alyssa ended up riding the race horses at least ten times, loving each and every spin.
Then she refused to go on any of the roller coasters because, again, they're just too scary.
That's the point!!! We go there, we pay insane amounts of money to be scared, to be thrilled, to be excited and to almost pee our pants.
We don't pay over $40 a person to go in the arcade and spend even more money playing games you can find just about anywhere else.
I think what got to me is that I felt like Alyssa's friend was 'afraid' because she thought she was supposed to be afraid. She claimed to have a fear of heights but I wonder if that's just because she's heard others claim the same fear and so she thinks that's how people are supposed to feel. Whatever it was, it was frustrating because her 'fears' were contagious and Alyssa wasn't nearly as adventurous as I know she would have been had her 'experienced' friend been more willing to try a few of the more thrilling rides.
In the end, we did have a great time. We walked and rode and played and ate. We got soaked a couple of times, dried out in the breeze.
And for the record, the first roller coaster Alyssa ever rode was the Gemini. She was so brave and so scared out of her nine-year-old mind. We didn't have time for her to think about it, we raced through the line and never once had to stop and wait. As we flew down that first hill, my arms extended over my head, I glanced over at Alyssa, who was holding on to the bar in front of her, her head down and her eyes squeezed shut as tight as she could get them.
I put my hand on her knee and squeezed. She gripped my hand and didn't let go until the ride ended. I didn't stop laughing until the ride ended.
When we got off, I laughed and asked if she wanted to do it again. She declared, "I thought I was going to die!"
I laughed harder still. I was so proud of her.
Today, though, we've dropped Alyssa's friend off at home and we're now recovering from the walking, the spinning, the flying and the eating.
Next year, I think I'll encourage Alyssa to invite a different friend. We'll save this friend for trips to the pool or just hanging out at home, where we're all safe and sound.
The biggest downer of that trip with my high school marching band was this one friend who refused to ride even the tamest of rides. She didn't want to spin, she didn't want to go up high, she absolutely didn't want to go up high while spinning and roller coasters? Forget it.
And yet, she got mad at the rest of us because we wanted to go on all the thrill rides. She fretted that she was being left out and whined when we went on the rides anyway, leaving her on a bench by the exits.
It was bad enough that she was having a lousy time at the park, but she wanted the rest of us to be as miserable as she was. She was pissed that we refused to let her ruin our day.
My mom and I took Alyssa and a friend of Alyssa's to Cedar Point yesterday. It was the perfect day for a visit to the amusement park.
The temps stayed moderate, the cloudcover kept the sun from burning us and it was a Thursday in August, which worked in our favor by keeping the crowd low and the lines short.
A's friend has been to Cedar Point several times. She said her first time was when she was six.
Which, fine. Good for her. Yay and all that jazz.
Except...when kids are six, their parents have to explain to them that the bigger, more thrilling rides are too big and too thrilling. They (the parents) may even tell the kids that the rides are too scary for them.
Which in turn, leads a ten year old girl to be afraid of riding the race horse carousel because it's too fast.
Seriously.
After we convinced her try the stupid carousel, and after I rode the ride on the same horse with her, she realized it wasn't so fast nor so scary. She and Alyssa ended up riding the race horses at least ten times, loving each and every spin.
Then she refused to go on any of the roller coasters because, again, they're just too scary.
That's the point!!! We go there, we pay insane amounts of money to be scared, to be thrilled, to be excited and to almost pee our pants.
We don't pay over $40 a person to go in the arcade and spend even more money playing games you can find just about anywhere else.
I think what got to me is that I felt like Alyssa's friend was 'afraid' because she thought she was supposed to be afraid. She claimed to have a fear of heights but I wonder if that's just because she's heard others claim the same fear and so she thinks that's how people are supposed to feel. Whatever it was, it was frustrating because her 'fears' were contagious and Alyssa wasn't nearly as adventurous as I know she would have been had her 'experienced' friend been more willing to try a few of the more thrilling rides.
In the end, we did have a great time. We walked and rode and played and ate. We got soaked a couple of times, dried out in the breeze.
And for the record, the first roller coaster Alyssa ever rode was the Gemini. She was so brave and so scared out of her nine-year-old mind. We didn't have time for her to think about it, we raced through the line and never once had to stop and wait. As we flew down that first hill, my arms extended over my head, I glanced over at Alyssa, who was holding on to the bar in front of her, her head down and her eyes squeezed shut as tight as she could get them.
I put my hand on her knee and squeezed. She gripped my hand and didn't let go until the ride ended. I didn't stop laughing until the ride ended.
When we got off, I laughed and asked if she wanted to do it again. She declared, "I thought I was going to die!"
I laughed harder still. I was so proud of her.
Today, though, we've dropped Alyssa's friend off at home and we're now recovering from the walking, the spinning, the flying and the eating.
Next year, I think I'll encourage Alyssa to invite a different friend. We'll save this friend for trips to the pool or just hanging out at home, where we're all safe and sound.
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