Skip to main content

Haunted Plastic Mansion 1: Bouncy Castle 0

We had a fun fair at my daughter's school yesterday.  For my daughter this is always an exciting entertainment option right in her backyard. For us parents it is a cheap form of entertainment that spells the beginning of summer, a chance to reconnect with other parents after all those dozens of hurried drop offs and pick ups.

What's not to love? Balloon animals,a lollipop pull, two big bouncy castles, prizes and treats.  Our school pulls out all the stops and we always come home laden with great flea market finds and cotton candy and treasures.  At the flea market, we picked up a few little things for rock bottom prices including this (above) haunted mansion matchbox toy that my son was captivated by.  Not bad for $2.

However, after that, I was kind of wishing we hadn't bought so many tickets because all my son wanted to do was play with this toy.  He plunked himself approximately 1.5 metres away from a BOUNCY CASTLE and drew kids in like moths to a flame.  They played and played with a play car he had smuggled in and moved it up and down the tiny chutes, ramps and elevators in his tiny haunted mansion over and over.  He took a small break to grab a drink but he blithely ignored all the other marvels all around him in which he was simply no longer interested.  Ironically, if we had got the same toy and brought it directly home, it would have held his interest for a lot less time.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A 5 minute challenge

WifeMotherExpletive  extended an invitation I could not refuse: " Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking" on the word, Real . real is what I always strive to be.  in a hurry to be as real as possible, I've overlooked so much.  I have denied myself things that would have helped me understand things better.  real, but real for who? as I age, I want to be more real to me because I suspect that there will be many surprises. hard to believe that I will be surprised since I have lived with myself for 36 , going on 37 years, but I don't doubt it for one minute.  Honesty is where I falter.  I can achieve "real" (does it qualify as real if it is in quotation marks) but it may not be true.  In general, I want things to be tied up in a package and smooth even it is too jagged to fit.  I want this, I know that to be real, it cannot happen but I think true is what I need to really aim for.  I know some things are tru...

the words fell out

 Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out.  They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch.  Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable.  Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions,  accusations, reflections,  words...

Bringing her back

 As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled.  The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously.  She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant.  The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her.  The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence.  I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face.  To sit in her prescence.  My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us.   This Taylor Swift cover  by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning.  Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...