I took the kids and their cousin to Luna Park yesterday. They all have season passes ($99 for two years – best Christmas present EVER), so if you pack snacks and water bottles it’s virtually a free day out. Especially if you score one of the 70c an hour metered spots on the harbour – bargain (stop it Alana, you’re giving away all your secrets).
The youngest was walking in an extremely elongated manner as we entered the fun park. And it became apparent why when we got to the box office – she was desperate to finally be tall enough for a YELLOW pass rather than a green one.
Not because she’s itching to go on The Ranger or The Flying Saucer or one of those terrifying contraptions. The youngest is a total fraidy pants, she can’t even bring herself to go on the ferris wheel, just looking at it makes her shudder.
No, it was because if she could crack a yellow she’d finally be able to drive her own dodgem car. So she stood against that height chart and stretched up with all her might and made it by a millimetre.
She was beside herself with pride as the attendant wrapped the yellow wristband around her arm.
And off we raced to the dodgems queue. I climbed aboard for the first turn, just to be sure she had the hang of it, then she was off.
Awwww, I was so proud of her serious little face as she puttered around the track.
Such a blessing because my neck is totally stuffed from going back to an office job after 18 months at home. Not to mention a certain rear-ending incident a few weekends ago.
Much expensive physio has been taking place recently. Fark they know how to charge in the city. And fark my private medical fund knows how to not refund nearly adequately enough. I’m out of pocket $60 to $80 every time.
So my neck was thrilled not to be further whiplashed during her subsequent five twirls on the dodgem track.
When I finally dragged her away, a terrible reality set in. Finally being a yellow also meant she couldn’t go on the kiddie rides anymore – the little flying elephants and teeny ferris wheel and stuff – because she was too tall now.
So there we were in limbo-land. Too terrified for all the yellow rides – except the dodgems – and a millimetre too big for the kiddie rides. To rub salt in the wound, the only other ride she’ll even contemplate – the merry-go-round – was closed for repairs.
We wafted around Coney Island for a while, she finally inched up to the top of the slide, took one petrified peek and inched her way back down the stairs again, then we had some hot chips and went home.
I couldn’t really enjoy the hot chips because I’d made the mistake of asking iVillagers on Facebook yesterday morning: “School holidays question on my mind: Hot chips for lunch … where do you stand on them? They’re seductively cheap, kids love them and EVERYWHERE has them as a standard children’s meal option. How often do you give in – frequently, sometimes or never? – Alana (Confession: if it’s a pub meal I’m an always)”
And one woman replied: “Hot chips are a rarity for our family (few times per year). We are teaching our kids to love healthy and tasty food.”
So I kept thinking I was going to be set upon by DOCs at any moment for being a terrible parent.
But the kids had a great day. I would have been more jazzed if I didn’t have my head buried in my iPad most of the time, fretting over poor Pierce Brosnan losing his daughter to cancer and a little kiddie tragically swallowing a lithium battery and dying.
But that’s what “working from home” during school holidays looks like …