Festi-fail

One of the Strides instructors invited a number of us to come to a fall festival being put on by her kids' school.  The school happens to be less than a mile from our house, facing Balboa Park, and is a very frou-frou and popular charter school that I will probably be putting Bug's name in the lottery for.  I was excited to go.  It was going to be fun!  We were going "out" on a Friday night!  Social two-for-two!

And then this is what actually happened:

Fifteen minutes before we are scheduled to leave the house, I remember I spent my last $5 at the coffee shop earlier in the day.

I debate paying the fee at one of the two ATMs that are on the walk to the school that are, of course, not our bank, but decide that's dumb.

After emptying out the piggy bank from the kitchen counter, we manage $7 in silver coin, which we place in a baggie.

Ten minutes after we get there, and 45 seconds after I have purchased $5 worth of tickets using dimes, Bug falls, re-skins the knee she fell on earlier today at school, and starts howling like a banshee.  I seriously debate leaving.

We decide to try for the bean bag toss game.  Matt, who has been carrying her, attempts to put her down on the ground.  The second she straightens and bears weight on the skinned knee, she starts screaming again like we're stabbing her with lit cigarettes.

I seriously debate leaving a second time.

We walk with her to the other side, and try for the pumpkin game.  We explain to her that she has two options: 1) continue to cry, and we will leave the party and go home or 2) stop crying, and play some games.

She says that she wants to play some games.

It takes a solid five minutes and numerous threats to surgically extricate her from my arms.

She cheats terrifically at the pumpkin toss game, which no one for some God-awful reason finds funny other than us.  She's two!  Walking up to the holes and then throwing the pumpkin into them makes perfect sense to me, too.

You can see the electrical tape lines behind her that the rest of the kids used.

Trying to figure out if the pumpkin straw will fit in the "treat bag."

Somehow between the pumpkin toss and the bean bag toss, she remembers her knee hurts.  Howling, again.

I debate leaving a third time.

We manage to get her to play the bean bag toss.  Despite her clear ability to throw anything and everything clear across our entire living room at home, she's suddenly unable and/or unwilling to throw the bean bag into the hole.  We repeat our pumpkin toss experience.  The Princess Leia who is running the game thinks Bug is four.  I tell her that she's two, which I hope excuses her bizarre behavior.

I have no idea why she was suddenly so shy.

You're not going to disqualify this face, are you?

BAM.

Glow stick bracelet.

Attempting to put it back together.

NO MOM, DON'T HELP ME [DAMMIT!]

We go for the Plinko game next.  Bug notices a bunch of balloons tied as decorations to the booth, and starts whacking at them and whining about how much she wants one.  As I carry her, literally kicking, away from them before she inadvertently pops them all, I debate leaving a fourth time.  To add insult to injury, we have lost our place in line.

Some punk-ass six year old keeps trying to budge in front of us, and I am so over it.

We finally play the game.  She gets a pumpkin necklace.  Someone somewhere has a plastic whistle that we keep hearing.  She decides her pumpkin is also a whistle, and starts improvising her own whistle sound.  It would be worse if there weren't 200 people crammed around us.

Four of our original ten tickets remain.  We ask her if she wants to eat or if she wants to play more games.  She wants to eat, so we walk over to where they had pizza slices for four tickets each.

They are out of pizza.

The pizza was supposed to be on that table behind us.  Who is forcing their smile more?

The only thing we can get for four tickets is hot cocoa, coffee, or a baked good.  I decide to go for the three ticket hot cocoa, and predictably, despite her initial declaration of love for hot cocoa, end up drinking it all myself.

It's hard to see,  but the orange sheet of paper tells us that we didn't budget enough tickets for Nutella crepes.  

While the volunteer is filling the cup with the cocoa, more pizza arrives, 90 seconds too late.

The last ticket is spent on a baked good.  Matt picks it out, so of course it's a cookie full of walnuts, which I don't want Bug to eat.  Heated, teeth-whispering arguing ensues.

Finally we leave.  In an effort to placate Bug, I give her Goldfish, which are usually the coveted snack of last resort.  Her lips are apparently chapped, and she howls about the salt/lip combo, and then remembers her leg hurts, again.

Goodbye, cute party!  We might have come a year too early.

Not ready for daylight savings time.

We get home, we feed her, we give her a bath.  The second the water touches her knee (there wasn't even any open skin!) she screams like she's being dipped in battery acid.  The neighbors must just love us.

You bet your buns, though, that if asked, I'm still going to brag that I went "out" on a Friday night.