On the over-protective mother spectrum, I probably fall somewhere in the middle. While I am closer to the mom who hoards tiny bottles of hand sanitizer than I am to the mom who only bathes her kids when she can smell them, I don't bat an eyelash when I hear Owen exclaim, "Still good!" and then watch him pop a recently dropped M&M in his mouth. I would say that I'm moderately picky about exactly what I expose my child to, but there's something about carnival season that makes me throw my standards to the wind.
Last year when a bunch of toothless carnies brought their brand of fun to my town, I happily took Owen to the fair. "Go ahead, honey," I said, "Hand your ticket to the nice, dead-behind-the-eyes lady and then make your way into the bowels of that bouncy, inflatable caterpillar!" "Sure!" I exclaimed, "Hop on that motorcycle roundabout with the awkward and threadbare seat belt configuration! Have a great time!" "But mind your manners," I cautioned, "and wait for the man to flick the two inches of ash off his cigarette before handing him your ticket. Then climb aboard that giant strawberry and spin till you puke! And do it all in the name of f-u-n, FUN!" Festival fever. It is real and it is intoxicating.
Last year, Neil and I watched with pride as Owen found the courage to try new rides all by himself, and we grinned like idiots and waved to him from our parental post outside the tiny metal fence around each kiddie ride. As he rode in endless circles on ride after ride, we were content to simply ride the high that only a heaping stack of onion rings and giant smoked turkey leg can provide. It was bliss.
Sure, we spent most of our life savings at the Friendship Festival that Friday evening, but then after fortifying ourselves with bucketloads of Friendship Festival Parade candy, we went back for more on Saturday afternoon. If I actually kept track of the money we spent at the fair last year, I'd probably choke on my Lemonade Shake Up, but watching Owen find the courage to tackle the little dragon roller coaster all by himself was one of those priceless moments that I'll never forget. I'll always remember the unsolicited thank you he gave us, his proclamation that "it was the best day EVER!" and the real tears he cried when he realized that the carnival was not, in fact, a permanent fixture in in his hometown.
Despite the expense, the long lines, and the eerie feeling of being sized up by carnival folk, I will happily head back to the Friendship Festival this year. I wouldn't miss it for all the corndogs in the world.
