July 27th marked exactly one month until school starts, so I thought it would be a good time to try a bucket list brainstorming session again. This time I asked a question: What would we need to do to make you feel like this was a fun, successful summer? That query, combined with heat-induced summer cabin fever, caused the floodgates to open. I stood at the Ikea dry erase board in the kitchen and wrote down anything they thought of. A good 99% of the ideas are doable. At Foghorn's insistence I wrote down "go to outer space," even though I'm not stupid enough to try to arrange that excursion. (It did, however, make me think of Ralph Cramden's "to the moon" threat, which I've wanted to use on Foghorn this summer about every other hour.)
The mind map we created is a bit daunting. Some of the items are dependent on decent weather (I steadfastly refuse to go to an amusement park on one of those 95-degrees-and-dripping-humidity days) and others I find cost prohibitive (I refuse to spend $20 on a first run movie along with another $20 in snacks). We're making a valiant attempt, though, to hit everything and if all three of us survive the experience I'm sending word to the Vatican about the miracle.
In the last five days we:
* Went to Run, Jump, and Play - Giant inflatables, trampolines, and indoor play sets. Oh, yes, and air conditioned.
|Still not sure why Uncle Chester likes to come|
along to these things...
* Went to a church festival - Bars & Bells tickets, rides, and the winning of plastic maces with which to torture people. Priceless.
|Had to impose a rule on the number of consecutive|
rides on the Ferris Wheel after the Professor rode
10 times and made himself deathly ill on a
* Went to Coney Island for rides - Cincinnati's original amusement park is much smaller than in its heyday 50 years ago, but it's still got lots of fun, classic rides like the Scrambler, Tilt-o-Whirl, and Flying Bobs. Foghorn's favorite is the small roller coaster. Just be careful to NEVER sit in the second seat from the front. When the car reaches the bottom of the first hill your head is thrust forward and then it zooms right up the next hill, snapping your head in the other direction and smashing your cranium on the barely-padded back of the seat. The Professor's chiropractor has often joked that there are rides at King's Island that tempt him to stand at the exit handing out his business cards. I've got to tell him about this one.
|The Queen of the Tilt-o-Whirl|
|"We all live in a yellow submarine..."|
|The Inmates making waves...as usual.|
|1960s appliance store. Foghorn lifted the lid and said, |
"What's cooking?" Then I explained that's a washing
machine. Don't judge too harshly -- we have a front
|Yes, she's wearing the new scarf I just|
knitted her out of wool yarn. And, yes, it
is a humid, 87 degree day today.
Of course, having a schedule this jam-packed is not without its downside. Between our busy days and the Olympics to watch in the evenings, there is a huge stack of unopened mail in my in box, I still haven't put all the groceries away from Sunday evening, and there is a giant basket of clean-yet-wrinkled laundry sitting on top of the washer. Last evening The Vulcan started grumbling something while in the kitchen and then made an unfriendly remark about the sink overflowing with dirty dishes. Having survived a breakfast with Foghorn, three hours of driving, and another three hours at a museum, I wasn't in the mood for his criticism. He made a rather snarly suggestion that I not go anywhere tomorrow and instead tend to the house. This did not go over well.
This morning as we were packing up for Sharon Woods, he emerged from his office and gave us a cheerful farewell. Foghorn and I were standing at the bottom of the stairs and I made a point of rubbing his nose in the fact that I was not staying home to clean and then I mouthed some obscenities at him. Foghorn chimed in with a loud, "Yeah, Dad. Make your own damn dinner!" The Vulcan wandered off muttering something about her never finding a husband.
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