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jumbo fun
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It's been a few days. Sarah is generally sweet and obliging, if somewhat demanding and clingy. Other times, she is squirrely and relentless in dancing on my last nerve. We go from hugging each other to yelling. At bedtime, I call Cathy at her West Coast ALA convention, and Sarah is rapt in the world of the telephone, dancing all over the room with the phone to her head.
After the call is over, she cries. She wants Mommy back. Mommy is supposed to live here, with us! She is inconsolable. The more I try to comfort her, the longer she cries. Finally, she subsides and she's falling asleep.
On Saturday, we went to an animal show at the Exposition (Big E) grounds. After buying admission and eight ride tickets, I am suddenly without money. Sarah sees a ride to go on -- the pony carts (like a merry-go-round, only the little sculpted ponies are pulling little carts). Next, she moves to the adjacent fire engine ride, and then to the little boats that go around on a ramp with some up-and-down movement. Before she can proceed to the spin and whirl next to that, I count the tickets and decide that it's time for us to go ride the elephant. Sarah is willing to accompany me.
The line is long. We watch the gentle pachyderms make their single circuit of an area about the size of a school gym. There are two elephants, and they're continually busy with a load of four or five people. The camel line is non-existent, and the ship of the desert is resting casually on the floor, watching the elephants go around. If we had four more tickets (animal rides cost two tickets), we'd be taking a spin on the dromedary. But we don't. It's a big step onto the carrier atop the elephant. I'm almost flexible enough to make it. The attendant gives me a helpful push the rest of the way, and we're off.
I try, but there's no good way to get a picture of myself on top of the elephant. Three-fourths of the way around, the elephant gets its union-mandated drink of water. Sarah declares that something smells bad. I point out that there are animals all over the place. We come back to our starting point and slide off the elephant. I think they said her name was Elaine. I reach out and graze a big, bristly ear with my fingers so I an say I touched an elephant.
With one ticket left, Sarah now wants to go down the big slide. I'm all for this, as she went on one once before and was scared by it. Now she's bigger, and she wants to try again. On my lap. I search my pockets and find enough change to get another ticket, so up we go and we slide down together. Yes! It was FUN! After that, we walk around and I keep explaining to her that we have no money left. We run into a school friend of hers (who will probably be at her birthday party) and his family. Nick's dad calls me "Chris," but I don't correct him, since I have no recollection of his name at all. After some more walking, we go home.
The next day, Sarah tells Cathy we've had a BORING weekend. I am touched.
We do other stuff. We go out for sushi on Saturday. We have fish fillets that evening (Sarah has decided lately that she loves fish -- good). On Sunday, we have microwaved White Castle sliders together. Other stuff happens, like household chores and games of "Fish" with the deck of little cards I found for her after only months of searching.
Anyway, it's been a typical, fun-filled daddy-and-daughter time, with Cathy at a convention. Tomorrow night, she comes home.
.
It's been a few days. Sarah is generally sweet and obliging, if somewhat demanding and clingy. Other times, she is squirrely and relentless in dancing on my last nerve. We go from hugging each other to yelling. At bedtime, I call Cathy at her West Coast ALA convention, and Sarah is rapt in the world of the telephone, dancing all over the room with the phone to her head.
After the call is over, she cries. She wants Mommy back. Mommy is supposed to live here, with us! She is inconsolable. The more I try to comfort her, the longer she cries. Finally, she subsides and she's falling asleep.
On Saturday, we went to an animal show at the Exposition (Big E) grounds. After buying admission and eight ride tickets, I am suddenly without money. Sarah sees a ride to go on -- the pony carts (like a merry-go-round, only the little sculpted ponies are pulling little carts). Next, she moves to the adjacent fire engine ride, and then to the little boats that go around on a ramp with some up-and-down movement. Before she can proceed to the spin and whirl next to that, I count the tickets and decide that it's time for us to go ride the elephant. Sarah is willing to accompany me.
The line is long. We watch the gentle pachyderms make their single circuit of an area about the size of a school gym. There are two elephants, and they're continually busy with a load of four or five people. The camel line is non-existent, and the ship of the desert is resting casually on the floor, watching the elephants go around. If we had four more tickets (animal rides cost two tickets), we'd be taking a spin on the dromedary. But we don't. It's a big step onto the carrier atop the elephant. I'm almost flexible enough to make it. The attendant gives me a helpful push the rest of the way, and we're off.
I try, but there's no good way to get a picture of myself on top of the elephant. Three-fourths of the way around, the elephant gets its union-mandated drink of water. Sarah declares that something smells bad. I point out that there are animals all over the place. We come back to our starting point and slide off the elephant. I think they said her name was Elaine. I reach out and graze a big, bristly ear with my fingers so I an say I touched an elephant.
With one ticket left, Sarah now wants to go down the big slide. I'm all for this, as she went on one once before and was scared by it. Now she's bigger, and she wants to try again. On my lap. I search my pockets and find enough change to get another ticket, so up we go and we slide down together. Yes! It was FUN! After that, we walk around and I keep explaining to her that we have no money left. We run into a school friend of hers (who will probably be at her birthday party) and his family. Nick's dad calls me "Chris," but I don't correct him, since I have no recollection of his name at all. After some more walking, we go home.
The next day, Sarah tells Cathy we've had a BORING weekend. I am touched.
We do other stuff. We go out for sushi on Saturday. We have fish fillets that evening (Sarah has decided lately that she loves fish -- good). On Sunday, we have microwaved White Castle sliders together. Other stuff happens, like household chores and games of "Fish" with the deck of little cards I found for her after only months of searching.
Anyway, it's been a typical, fun-filled daddy-and-daughter time, with Cathy at a convention. Tomorrow night, she comes home.
.
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Much younger and less capable of understanding than Sarah, of course, but very poignant, I thought, and a good sudden shift to a child's-eye view.
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