Monday, August 27, 2012

How was your weekend?

I'm just trying to squeeze out every last bit of summer at this point. I know we have plenty of nice weather left, but this week marks the last of summer Fridays for me at work (*tear) so I have to take advantage! This past Friday I decided to take Kid A to the Land of Make Believe. I didn't get many pictures because it was just the two of us and he was hell bent on me carrying him around the whole time. I made the excellent decision not to bring his stroller in thinking he would want to run all over the place. But no. He wanted a ride everywhere.

For those unfamiliar, the Land of Make Believe is an amusement park that has been largely unchanged since I used to visit there as a child, and as I found out, even since my parents used to visit when they were kids. The difference now is that there's a water park that's pretty legit as far as small amusement parks go. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about this treasure of a place that looks, feels and SMELLS the same as it does in my memories from 25 years ago. The smell I'm talking about is that musty, dank mothball smell. It stinks and I love it.

There's a hay ride, a train ride, a few carnival-like rides, a barn where you crawl through a chimney, climb a flight of stairs to the non-air conditioned attic and visit poor sweaty Santa who gives you a gift, a haunted house which brings back fond memories of me peeing my 6 year old pants. There's Old MacDonald's farm, with a sheep, a goat, a cow and some bunnies. There's the candy cane forest and Colonel Corn, the talking scarecrow.

But creepiest of all, there is the legend of Jenny Jump Mountain. At the far edge of the property lies a decrepit old house at the bottom of a mountain with a few pieces of old furniture inside that you can barely see through the dirty windows. It was Jenny's house. The loudspeakers from the 1950s that are attached to the house tell the story of Jenny, a young girl who lived in the house with her father. According to legend, Jenny was up the mountain picking berries when a group of Indians starting chasing her. Her father yelled to her, "Jump, Jenny, Jump!" And she did. And she died. And that's part of the amusement park. I dare you to find that shit at Disneyworld.

Here we are about a year ago with the Colonel. In the background is Jenny's house.

Saturday was pretty uneventful in terms of telling a story. Mr. F had his fantasy football draft and I took Kid A to a graduation party.

Sunday morning started out fabulous with some fresh peach pancakes. Just one more thing I'm trying to capitalize on before they go out of season.

Pannies were followed up by a trip to Space Farms, another blast from the past. I don't have many clear memories of this place as a kid, except that I know I milked a cow there. It's a lot bigger than I remember, and it reinforces my general dislike of zoos. I feel horrible for those poor animals trapped in tiny cages like that. I toyed with the notion of breaking them all out, but the notion of a tiger ripping me to shreds quickly followed.

Now that you're all depressed about the animals, let's look at them!
Kid A, normally petrified of these animals, kinda dug this deer

We stayed til last call, which is something I haven't done in years. It was exhilarating. Some dudes came up on a golf cart and kicked us out at five, so we didn't get to see much of the museum stuff. Apparently this Space guy was somewhat of a collector. I think there's a show for people like him. I would have liked to see the collections of old toys and tools and whatnot, but unfortunately we ran out of time.

So that's what we did this weekend! Mr. F and I each dragged Kid A to the beloved places of our youth. Because really, isn't that what being a parent is all about?

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