Recovering

Just another Wednesday: Up at 5:30 a.m. with Cubby, to story hour at the village library at nine, home for lunch and naps.

Then A. hit me with a shocker: How about we go to the Pageant of Steam with the kids after their naps?

Internally, I was one big, "NOOOOO." But all I said was sure.

The Pageant of Steam is an ENORMOUS steam engine show that's a little over an hour away from us. It covers a hundred acres, all filled with old machines in various states of restoration, many of which are in operation for the show. Also a giant flea market featuring such scintillating items as rusty old tools and spark plugs and so forth.

Not really my scene. Plus, over two hours in the car with both kids? I could see the future, and it did not look promising for our ear drums.

However.

A. has wanted to go for years. He was so determined to make it this year with Cubby that he actually wrote it on his work calendar. We were planning to go on Saturday, but since that's the last day of it and it would be kind of winding down, A. wanted to go today, which is opening day.

So we did. It was just as I expected. That is, large and loud and chaotic and smelly from all the engines running. Charlie did okay in his stroller, but Cubby was ROYALLY PISSED that he wasn't allowed to climb on all the machines. Not a single machine did he get to play with, since the old dudes that restored them were not keen to see a three-year-old yanking on the levers and playing with the buttons.

We got him an ice cream sandwich and a tiny monster truck toy at the flea market as condolence prizes, but he was still displeased.

Charlie only screamed the last half hour in the car on the way home, because it was pretty much his bedtime and he was so far from done with the sitting in straps.

A. was awed by the scope of the event, and I know a little disappointed that we could only spend two hours (only, yes) looking around, thanks to the children and their tolerance for such things.

Their tolerance is better than mine. My condolence prize was a peck of peaches we bought at a local orchard on our way home. It doesn't quite compensate for the Pageant of Steam trauma, but maybe by next year I'll have recovered so we can do it all again.

Whee.