The Magpie went to an indoor amusement park this past weekend. Hosted at the ice-free hockey arena and set up for the duration of spring break, it was all the tackiness that could be crammed into a stadium and made even sadder by the fact that our group made up over 50% of the clientele for the first hour and a half that we were there.
A sad carnival ride operator is a sad, sad thing indeed…
The Magpie did not seem to notice. She loved every minute of it. Her insanely cautious and overprotective father took her on nearly every heart stalling ride that he could – as long as she followed the rules and met the height limits – and the faster a ride went, the happier she was. Though the horses on the carousel had her heart, it was the speed of the flying fish ride that kept her coming back for more.
I suspect the (very, very small amount) of cotton candy and the 3 or 4 mini doughnuts may have had something to do with her excitement, too.
But the thrill was not soon lost: Sunday, we went to the park. It was a beautiful sunny spring day that demanded an outside adventure and we, as always, ended up at the small playground nearby. The swing, on which she was pushed so high and fast that her previously mentioned father would have been foaming at the mouth, was pronounced not very fast at all.
We’re not sure where that leaves us. Mr. Q and I are, by nature, lazy and not prone to fantastical feats of daring. We don’t do month long ocean kayaking trips or extreme mountain biking or heli-skiing. I’m not even particuarly fond of suspension bridges, or regular bridges for that matter. And now we have a child who will probably be demanding a bungee jumping expedition or ziplining for her third birthday party.
Maybe we can convince the grandparents to get her skydiving lessons.