Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Day at the Races

Yesterday was a trip to the Race Track for the family. The night before I worked diligently to prepare for it: diapers, wipes, extra clothes, snacks, Advil…you mother’s get the drift. My husband Ashley was gone fishing and my two older kids were roaming the neighborhood catching up on their social networking and whatnot.

The little boys were busy with the task of derailing my preparations at all costs, succeeding quite well. The front room was a war zone of toys and blankets (sorry, “tent coverings”). The hallway was overflow from the front room massacre. I’m not even going to start on the state of their bedrooms.

Needless to say, they were at their highest form, Brothers in Arm, against the enemy of cleanliness and order and their charge master, The Mother. But, by American Idol time I had conquered, and my daughter and I were happily enjoying the competition.

The next morning we actually headed out only about 20 minutes later than scheduled and were on our way to the racetrack where an action-filled day of engines, tires, asphalt, grand stands, and short men in very tight suits awaited us.

It was the best trip we’ve had with the little guys. I was expecting the normal hyperactive, whining, tantrum filled day that usually describes our family trips. They can’t help it…what do you expect when you try to take two toddlers to an aquarium and they CAN’T jump in to swim with the fish? Or you visit an historical submarine and they CAN’T actually go behind the barrier to the underbelly (and coolest part)?

No, today I realized we were in THEIR element. This was the spirit of two young toddler’s and their older siblings. The loud roar of the motorcycle engines, the squealing tires on the asphalt, the men with their toys (sorry, I mean tools) tinkering away at over sized matchbox cars.

This was the real-life version of their front room war zone! All the little action figures were life size in racing suits, the larger than life vehicles...with actual moving parts. The race tracks of huge proportions just waiting for the next green light.

It was their imagination come to life and mom and dad wouldn’t tell them to clean it up before bedtime.

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