Half of the time I fantasize about shipping him to a cold, dark place (Siberia comes to mind) when I find sandwiches morphing into biology experiments under his bed, or he insists on arguing about everything. The rest of the time I have the urge to wrap him in packing material and protect him from the world. But this isn't a post about a mom moaning about age or her child growing up; not today anyway.
The past several months Jonathan has campaigned to celebrate his birthday at Six Flags Fiesta Texas, bringing it up during dinner conversation, bribing his little brother to ask to go, and even going as far as slipping brochures beneath the dog's collar, knowing we'll find them.
The trip itself is no big deal. We live just 45 minutes from the park. It's the thought of long lines and paying $6 for drinks that left us with a bad taste in my husband John's and my mouth.
But birthdays come but once a year, and yesterday my family and I shuffled our way into Six Flags with what seemed like a million other sun-weakened families. Throughout the day, Jonathan took joy in picking on me about riding attractions safe for children and the elderly, and not partaking of the "thrill rides". Sorry, hurtling through space at 65 mph (upside down and sideways most of the time) just isn't my cup of tea.
"C'mon ride one, I just dare ya." he goaded.
As I looked around my surroundings, my gaze fell on the SKY SCREAMER, and a plan began to form. Jonathan had been occupied with other attractions, and hadn't seen the ride in action--I had. The SKY SCREAMER sat silent, each one of it's octopus-like arms holding a double swing seat perfectly still.