Fire Truck Rides

Every year our town has "Youth Week". There are lots of events that entertain, involve, showcase and celebrate kids from a talent show to a track meet to free rollerskating to a dance. My oldest was elected by his freshman class to be a "councilman" in the town meeting and he skillfully argued for a skatepark to be built in our town. Here's a picture of him (in purple) making his case. The real councilman he sat in for said that he made his case so well he may use him as a laison between skaters and councilmen if the plan goes through! That was fun.

But firetruck rides are funner.

That is why we get there early. There's my eager husband. He don't mess around.

We stand in really long lines...

and keep standing in rather long lines...

................. and listen to the lady behind us say to her two boys for the 673rd time, "If you hit him one more time we are leaving and there will be no fire trucks or ice cream tonight." Around the 231st time I stop myself from turning around and telling her that none of us believe her anymore. Anyway, we keep waiting.......

until we feel we can stand it no longer.....

and finally our truck arrives and the kids pile on. Sean wanted to meet a fireman, so while he was waiting to get on, he turned to the guy in black on the street and said, "Hi." The fireman in black said, "Hey Buddy!" and gave him a high five. It was really cute. I wish I photographed it, but I was standing there like a goofy mother thinking, "Uh, that was really cute."

fAnd then all the stars align, there's a harmonic convergence and all is right with the world - the boys are on a fire truck. f

A bunch of happy firemen are taking my kids away, and I'm on the curb waving goodbye to them. They scream off into the neighborhoods of our town, alerting all the kids who forgot to run to their parents screaming, "IT'S FIRETRUCK RIDES NIGHT!" And of course, those parents get very excited.

Alas, the firetruck men bring them back....

give them a ticket for some free ice cream....
and the kids play on the playground while the moms and dads chat and intermittantly try to get them to leave. One brave, tired parent makes the first move and successfully dislodges their dirty, ice creamy, sulky child from the area. Then we all begin peeling our childrens' fingers off the playground equipment. I called Sean off the swing. His chin quivered, "but I didn't get to go as high as I wanted..." I called Luke off the jungle gym, "but I was waiting for my turn on the [whatsahoosit]..."


And the final, annual question, "When are the next firetruck rides Mommy?"