A couple of weeks ago my sister and I decided to take our kids to a fairy festival at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens.
Was really looking forward to a chill day in an awesome environment.
What kind of horrible luck do I have to drive right past the annual Day Out With Thomas event that is held not too far from the botanical gardens?
I swear it was just a distant image when Brian starts hand flapping in the back. The hand flapping intensifies as we get closer. And then the howling begins as we drive right on by.
I’m looking at my sister with major trepidation in my eyes. I’m not sure if she realizes the seriousness of the situation. If she knows that my boy will not, absolutely will not, get over this.
She gets it though. She tells me to call to see when the last ride is.
We placate Brian by telling him “First fairies. Then Thomas.” We repeat it as a mantra as his sobs become less and less.
It seems like he gets it as we park and walk towards the festival. But as soon as we are inside the gardens he just starts screaming again.
At this point I’m holding him. It’s the easiest way to really quiet him, yet I know we must look ridiculous. My seven-year-old is really getting too big to be carried. I’m kind of petite and his feet now hang pass my knees when I carry him around.
|Oh rocks with built-in sprinklers. How I love thee.|
He cried in the bathrooms. He cried through the parade. He cried while we walked. And then, by the grace of the Goddess, there were spraying rocks at the entrance of the children’s gardens. They were our savior, because they snapped him out of his funk.
We enjoyed our time at the gardens, though we did have to rush it more than we wanted, to make sure we made the last ride offered at the railways.
Though Brian did end up having fun, there was nothing like the smile on his face when we said, “Okay, all done fairies. Time for Thomas.”
When we arrived back at the railways he was so ecstatic he couldn’t hold it in. Seriously, he couldn’t: hand flaps and happy squeals abounded.
The event had a movie screening area, story time, a bounce house, a hay maze, a tiny tractor/”train” ride, temporary tattoos station, a railway museum, and a tent to play with toy trains. All Brian wanted to do was play with the trains. The trains that we have in an abundance right here at home. I watched him closely as he tried to dictate the train table.
“Excuse me. Clarabel does not come after Annie. Annie always goes first. Everyone knows that.”
“You can’t have two engines attached to each other! You can put one at the end of the train to help it up the hill if you want.”
“Colors people! Look at the colors!! You don’t put a red tender with a yellow engine! Amateurs!!”
Of course he wasn’t saying these things, but it was implied.
He started screaming when I took him away from the toys so we could ride on the real thing.
|I love how Brian refers to Thomas as “Tommy”.
They go way back.
He calmed down when he saw the life-size Thomas and thoroughly enjoyed the ride.
Yet, after the ride it was right back to the toys.
When we left not only was he screaming at the top of his lungs but my four-year-old neice decided she didn’t want to be outdone and joined in. We made quite the grand exit….we heard the comment, “Well you look like a happy bunch.”
All I could do at that point was laugh. Because I was exhausted, hot, and sweaty and was really ready to scream right along with the two of them.
Magical day? I don’t really know about that. More like magical moments. But we tried.
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