We spent Saturday at a local amusement park. It’s no Walt Disney World. The only show we saw starred three scruffy men pretending to be drunk and shooting each other. Magical. There are rides for all ages which is important when you space your oldest and youngest child 10 years apart.


There were just a few tears when my 5-year-old couldn’t ride with his older brother. The guy at the roller coaster took his job seriously. I’m pretty sure my son was a centimeter too short. I suppose better safe than sorry.


At this point we decided to hit the water slides. An amusement park is really the only place I feel sexy in a bathing suit. Most of the women strolling around are fellow mothers. It’s like a cat walk of stretch marks. The models earned each and every red squiggly line.

I think what I hate the most is having to step foot in the changing rooms. As my daughter put it “Disgusting! This place smells like poop and pee.” It was horrendous. If I were alone it would have taken two minutes to get changed. With a 2-year-old is takes much, much longer. She wants to have a conversation about everything. “Is that my bathing suit?” “Is it green? It’s pretty.” “Is that a door?” “Is this a carnival?” By the time it’s my turn to change I’m hot and on the verge of vomiting. Her questions get even better. “Is that your bathing suit?” “Why is your hair brown and mine yellow?” “Are you sweating? I’m hot too.” “Are those your boobs? They are big.”

The reward is wading in a wave pool that, no doubt, children have urinated in. Then, you get follow a man with yellow toe nails into the lazy river. Still, seeing my children happy was worth it. Their laughter was contagious. They even declared it to be “the best day ever.” Well, until we got home and my son didn’t want to go to bed. Then he informed me that he “didn’t need me as a mother.” I would like to see him try and microwave dinner himself. He needs me.

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