Ain't That America

Small town America doesn't get much better than festivals centered around agricultural events.  Our local festival is a wheat harvest festival in a nearby village.  The main event is supposed to be the horse-drawn machine that harvests the wheat field on the grounds of the historical society, but it has grown over the years into something much more.

We had never taken Cubby to this festival, and A. was determined to make it this year.  So this morning we loaded up the whole family and arrived just in time for the parade.  By sheer luck, we happened upon a spot in the shade that was right where the parade participants turned off the street and onto the grounds of the festival.  There were also no other small kids in the vicinity, which meant that when the parade people threw candy at Cubby, he got it all without a bunch of older kids with candy bags scurrying around and grabbing it all up.

Not that he knew what the hell was going on with the candy throwing.  Especially since the first elderly gentleman on a tractor that tossed him some candy accidentally beaned him in the head.  Whoopsy.

But no matter!  Nothing could detract from the excitement of that parade.  A veritable army of antique tractors, horse-drawn wagons, old cars, fire trucks with sirens wailing . . . in short, Cubby's idea of heaven.

After the parade, Cubby and A. set off to see everything up close.  Charlie had been sleeping all this time and didn't appear inclined to wake up, so I put him on a blanket in the shady grass and sat there in a lawn chair for an hour while he napped.

After A. and Cubby rejoined us, we all set off to find some lunch and watch the horse-drawn harvester in action.  Charlie slept some more.

By 1 p.m. it was 90 degrees and Cubby was the approximate shade of a ripe tomato, so I decreed it was time to go home.  We got in the car and he looked like he was going to pass out in short order. I spent the ten-minute drive home talking to him, trying to keep him awake.  Then we got home, A. brought him upstairs for his nap, and the pounding commenced.  All I could hear from upstairs were the sounds of Cubby running back and forth from his room to ours.  Whatever he was doing up there, it was definitely not sleeping.

And so here we are at 2:30 in the afternoon, still not sleeping.  Amazing.  Not even the wheat-harvest-festival-induced exhaustion could overcome his stubborn refusal to fall asleep.  Dammit.

Edited to add: It is now 3:45 p.m.  Cubby is asleep on the couch.  A. is asleep upstairs.  Charlie is asleep in the bassinet.   Bedtime is going to be fun around here tonight.