Monday, September 3, 2007

A Laboring Day

The boys and I went to the Labor Day picnic around 10:00. HH was supposed to go, as we do every year, but he jumped out of the LSUV at the end of the driveway and stomped back to the Mansion. Go figure! I swear that man has a screw loose.

We got to town about 10:30, and the streets were packed. I thought the parade was at 9:00, but for some reason it took an extra long time, or else it was at 10:00. We got a really good parking space on the other side from where HH usually dumps us. Even though I had to pull in a guy's driveway to turn around to park in front of his house, and tell the boys to quit walking in his yard. It didn't help that he was IN the driveway, washing his motorcycle, glaring at us. Hey, buddy. You should have thought of this when you bought the house right next to the park. We were one of about 6 cars to do the same thing. And nobody even blocked his driveway.

The boys rode the Scrambler, after #1 son swore that he would sit on the outside, so as not to crush his little brother. The size difference between them right now is tremendous. In fact, just Saturday afternoon, #1 picked up #2 and draped him over his shoulders like a boa. Constrictor, he declared, as the bony boy was not fluffy enough or pretty enough to be the other kind. Anyhoo, I made him get on his knees for the draping, and by cracky, that boy stood up and walked around with the young 'un on his shoulders. He's strong as an ox. And stubborn as one, too. He looked kind of like a wrestler doing the airplane spin, from when I was a kid watching Wrestling At The Chase on Sunday morning, Channel 11. Any St. Louis people will know what I'm talkin' about. Dick the Bruiser, Andre the Giant, Rick Flair. Back when wrestling was...umm...still fake.

The #2 son also rode the Viper, which lets your feet dangle, and takes you up to a height of about 15 feet, and spins you. He then went on the Somethingthatscaresthesnotoutofme. I forget its actual name, but it is that big box thingy that swings back and forth until it goes over the top 7 times one way, and then 7 times the other way.

The little boy wasn't much for riding the rides. He threw darts and won a penguin. He picked up a yellow ducky out of a blue swimming pool and won an inflatable mace. Yes. A mace. The medieval spiked ball on a stick, blow-up version. He really wanted to throw ping pong balls at floating glass ashtrays to win a live rabbit, but I decreed that wasn't happenin'. There were some cute bunnies hopping around inside the chickenwire. Those who weren't swooning from the heat. Some looked like they had no bones. Like my old black miniature poodle, Buster, would get when he was told it was bedtime, go to the basement. Every bone in that dog's body disappeared into thin air. You had to drape him over your arm like a waiter's tea towel to carry him to the basement door. My brother-in-law-the-mayor said both of his kids used to do the 'dead dog' in public if they didn't get their way. I don't doubt it.

We had sodas, snow cones, and a funnel cake, and called it a day. A fair to middlin' time was had by all. It was just SO HOT. Next year, maybe we'll break tradition and go at night.

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