At This Time Last Year: Circus Attempt One [Ill-Fated]

Sometimes Ian and I like to take his [now 'our'!] niece and nephew out. It's fun to be the bestowers of special treats, and they are great kids--precocious, funny and all-around good company. Josiah is affectionate and winsome; Emerald has been sarcastic and darkly humorous since she could talk. They're both very bright--Emerald competes in Lego robotics, and Josiah learned to read from 'Calvin and Hobbes' cartoons. And they especially adore Ian, who is a living, breathing jungle gym who plays Blanket Monster with them and invents elaborate stories for them about the adventures of one 'Captain Geduselah'. So we enjoy spending time with them...and, it's a bit of an unreal feeling for us. Like being 'parents for a day' without the same sense of responsibility. We have learned, however, that it takes both of us to keep track of even one of them for an afternoon.

Let me start by telling you about last year's attempt to attend the circus, so you will have the proper background for this year's outing. Last year, the Shriner's Circus came to town, and I thought it would be just a wonderful idea to take Emerald and Josiah [then 11 and 7, respectively] to see it. After all, who doesn't love the circus? I had picked up some of those tickets that the Shriners leave for free at local businesses [they advertise free adult admission or $1 off a child admission]. I suggested it to Ian, and he thought it was a great idea too. We were off!

We worked it out with Kirsten, Ian's older sister and the kids' mother [they live in Oregon City and Kirsten was a bit dubious about driving into Portland proper], to meet at a halfway point, at a MAX station. I did an internet search on the Shriners to find out what the cost would be, since the tickets didn't specify, and found nothing--no website, no schedule, nothing. A little fishy, so we called the kids and said that if we got to the circus and it was too expensive that we would take them to the zoo, or to Saturday Market, as an alternative. We were prepared!

Last year was made even more exciting because Christa and Mitch [my college roomie and her husband, who sang at our wedding, see pix on the Wedding Extravaganza entry] called and said they would be in town that weekend. FABULOUS! But now what? We couldn't just call the kids and say 'Too bad, maybe next year,"--and so Mitch and Christa graciously agreed to be part of our family outing. They even drove down in their minivan [no, they don't have kids--they just like to be hospitable; and living in Seattle, it's a cheap way to go downtown with friends as a group and park. It's also great for transporting their music equipment. But I digress.]

Unfortunately, the plan was off-kilter from the beginning. Kirsten was late to meet us with kids in tow [I don't recall why, but it was some miscommunication which obliterates blame or, at least, spreads it equally] and the circus had already begun before we met up. So, once we had collected the kids, we all piled into the van and went downtown to Saturday Market. We wanted each of them to be able to purchase something there [and thought giving the kids each a spending limit would keep nagging to a minimum]....I believe the limit we set was $15 for Josiah [whose birthday it was] and $5 for Emerald, who was not having a birthday but of course would have more fun with some money to spend. We all split up for a while--me taking Josiah, Ian taking Emerald, and Mitch and Christa wandering off to do that delightful newlywed thing.

Josiah almost immediately [as in, within 5 minutes] picked out a large metal spider made of, I don't know, nuts and bolts and various eating implements welded together in a nominally clever way. I was dubious--it had no actual use [rather like a garden gnome] and seemed like a particularly cumbersome item to carry around for the rest of the day. Would Kirsten be thrilled to have this thing in her house? I had hoped, too, that the shopping process would be drawn out a bit, so we would have some time to look around, enjoy, browse, people-watch, what-have-you. But Josiah was insistent that he was interested in owning nothing else that the market could possibly have to offer, and begged for it so continually after we left the booth that I let him have his way.

Emerald was another story altogether. It turned out that Emerald was the Wrong Age. If you are not young enough for silly little toys and not old enough [or girly enough] to be interested in exotically scented handmade shea-butter soap, the Market doesn't have a whole lot to offer you, at least in the price range we set. I was insistent that we needed to stay within her limit--both out of belief in maintaining limits and out of necessity of staying within budget.

When Ian and I traded charges, however, and Emerald conveyed her disappointment to him, he cheerfully doubled her spending allowance. And no, he didn't have any cash on him, [insert eye-roll here] so I was not delighted with his willingness to tinker with the budget when I found out later on. Furthermore, the raised limit was not actually helpful: Emerald saw nothing that she wanted until she discovered the hand-carved wooden Puzzle Snakes, made up of almost-identical links which have to be assembled in the exactly correct order to create the snake; she was desperate to have one. They started at $12 or so. Feeling the ground slipping out from under me, I reluctantly agreed that we could buy her the smallest one. Unfortunately, the smallest one was just enough to tantalize her; she needed more of a challenge, she and the booth owner agreed. The next size up was $25, which I absolutely couldn't agree to--even if we had had the money, to be fair we would have needed to raise Josiah's limit as well; after all, he was the one who actually had a birthday. I encouraged her to find something else; this suggestion was not as inspirational as I had hoped, however. I ended up assuring her that we could go 'somewhere else special' if she couldn't find something here.

Speaking of the birthday boy, Ian and I traded back, and I was kept busy adjuring Josiah that there were many interesting things to see and that we had all come to spend some time here, and that I had let him have what he had asked for, and so he was to be patient. We stopped to look at the booth with beautiful carved lanterns made out of recycled tin. I thoughtfully reached out and touched one, having forgotten momentarily the vigilance that must be maintained at all times when keeping company with a seven-year-old. Josiah, observing that touching was clearly allowed, reached out and touched one as well. One with a candle in it.

Of course, he burned his finger and screamed bloody murder. Passersby turned around to see what sort of extraordinary abuse was being wreaked on this child. It was an absolutely appalling noise. So I grabbed him up in my arms and ran for the water fountain, whereupon I was informed by a suddenly dignified Josiah that he did NOT need to be carried, thank you, he could walk. So we trotted briskly to the water fountain and held his finger in it.

Josiah felt that he needed ice, and that I should leave him by the train station stop with his finger in the water in order to fetch some. Now, I would assume that on my own I would never have considered leaving a seven-year-old where anyone could come along and bundle him onto a train [or anywhere alone in public, really]--but I certainly had my mind made up for me before I even had the opportunity to ponder it. Kirsten has taken a few hard knocks and is very, very protective of her children. When we first called to invite the kids out, she had made it abundantly clear:
We were not to leave them alone for even a moment.
They were not to go to the bathroom alone, or even to go in the bathroom while an opposite sex attendant waited outside.
We were not to be separated from them for any length of time for any reason.
[She had also sped us on our way when she dropped the kids off with further strongly-worded admonitions to the same effect.] I inspected Josiah's finger and there was no blister, but he was adamant that he must have ice. We resolved this by calling Christa on her cell phone and directing her to the food court so she could bring us a cup of ice. While we waited, Josiah would get tired of holding his finger in the water and take it out. After a moment it would be painful, and he would scream and I would tell him to put his finger in the water again. As it turns out, this was a faithful preview of what the rest of the afternoon was to be like.

I judged this to be a good time for us all to meet for lunch. Small boy can sit and hold his finger in a cup of ice, and be distracted by food! So via the miracle of cell phones, and some searching for Ian and Emerald, we were all able to meet up at the food court. Emerald needed to go to the restroom and instructed me firmly that I was not to let her go alone; I advised her dryly that abandoning her had not been in the plan. Upon arrival, she favored me with her opinions on restroom stalls with short walls and those which had condom-dispensing machines. I explained that the short walls were because we were downtown, and it was important for the market security to be able to ascertain that no one had gone in to use drugs in a locked stall. [Emerald is one of the few kids I know who is unfazed by this sort of thing.]

We returned to the food court, and Emerald wanted to know what special thing we were going to do next since there was nothing she could get at Saturday Market. After a hasty consultation, with Mitch and Christa, we settled on the zoo.

We arrived, of course, just as the zoo was closing. It was rather a frazzling experience, particularly as Josiah had let his [second!] cup of ice dribble away, and had thoughtfully finished emptying it out onto the ground just before getting in the van. About 10 minutes into the trip to the zoo he recalled that his finger was burned and underwent agonies of pain, sobbing in utter panic and flinging his hand around frantically to cool it; we made an emergency detour to a McDonald's drive-through for a cup of ice, which--fortunately for my social conscience--we managed to finagle without paying them 25 cents for the cup [sometime in the future I will do an entry on Companies All Ethical People Should Boycott. Stay tuned!]

So, as I was saying. We arrived at the zoo to find it closing; most importantly, the gift shop was closed. Where on earth were we going to find something for Emerald? Ian suggested one of his favorite places, The Japanese Garden. Both the zoo and the Japanese Garden are in Washington Park; and the Japanese Garden has a gift shop! [How on earth had we ended up creating these consumerist priorities? Who on earth goes to the Japanese Garden for the gift shop, for pity's sake? Where had we gone wrong?] Also, I think we were all hoping that the garden would exert a calming effect and that we could have some quiet, quasi-adult time.

Emerald, fortunately, was now the Right Age for her surroundings, and was very observant and quiet in the Garden. [In the gift shop, miraculously, in the minutes before it closed, we found an nifty calligraphy set. Marisa--Ian's mother; Emerald's grandmother--does beautiful calligraphy and we both thought it would be nice for Emerald to pursue that interest in her company. The board was $15 or so, but at that point I was just thankful to have found something. She and I were then able to join everyone else on their tour of the garden.]

Josiah, often a thoughtful and contemplative boy, was not in a mood to be so that day. He set a brisk pace for us, chattering constantly, hushing cooperatively when asked to, for 30 whole seconds at a stretch. He wanted to race away out of sight, so one of us always had to hold his hand and endure a steady pull with intermittent yanking, ever forward. He also gradually emptied out his water cup, despite several admonitions to take care of it, and reminders of what had happened when he had discarded it before. He told us irritably that he would be fine, and continued to strew it around carelessly as soon as we weren't looking.

We made it through the garden--in record time!--and loaded up into the van. I was able to chat with Christa for the first time that day; she told me about the earrings she had bought at Saturday Market, and we were nearly having a normal adult conversation when, just as the traffic gelled and set into place, Josiah recalled that, yes, his finger was burned. Much terror, much hysterical handwaving ensued. Ian and Christa and I exchanged anguished looks, and Mitch exhibited the extraordinary patience of a soldier in a war zone who has nobly decided to defend his country to the death. What were we going to do? Josiah was clearly anguished and miserable, and perhaps too young to be expected to be responsible? In any case, even if allowing him to 'experience the consequences of his actions' was not too harsh, it was going to be an utterly unnecessary penance for the other five people in the van.

I wheeled around in my seat and eyeballed him sternly. "JOSIAH," I said, "your finger is FINE. It has been HOURS now. The only time it starts to hurt again is when you remember that you burned it. When you have something else to interest you it doesn't hurt at all. So stop thinking about it, and it won't hurt!"

"Okay," he snuffled, sounding very sad and doubtful, and I thought, "Wow, that's a lot to ask. How is he going to distract himself? What can I do to distract him?" I thought frantically for several seconds.

"All right, everyone!" I announced cheerfully. "This is our new game! Let's look out the windows and find something that begins with 'A'!"

We played this game until the moment we arrived in Oregon City and opened the van door to return the children to their parents. Then the four of us went off to McMenamin's, where Ian and I decompressed and thoroughly questioned our own sanity and competence, and where all four of us reflected with satisfaction on our currently childless states.

PS. There is a happy ending: I remembered the puzzle snake and we gave one to Emerald for Christmas this year!