We hit the fair today with the boys. As part of the annual family picnic, my firm provided tickets, ride passes and food. So off we went to peer at the cows, pet some sheep, ride some rides and eat some fried dough.
The boys loved the cows and sheep. (Oh, the smell though. Icky, horrible smell.) They hated the rides. We tried three times to get them on a kiddie ride. Each attempt was met with such unbridled hysteria you would think we tried to force them into their very own version of hell. It was fun to watch all the other smiling kids get on the rides, wave to their moms and dads as they rode the carousels, and hoot as they honked their little toy horns. But, not my boys. Nope.
I enjoyed some buttery cinnamony goodness of fried dough. Chris munched on some vinegary french fries. The boys loved their icees.
Not to be left out of the fun, Griffin waited until we all sat down for lunch at the Firm picnic to unload the leakiest, ickiest, stinkiest poop in baby history. Because, really, what is my day without some bodily fluid marking it's territory? There is nothing better than changing a poop infested child while he screams his head off in front of your five million coworkers. It's good for morale. I'm hoping it makes the company daily newsletter. Yeehaw!
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