As parents, we all know there are "kind of okay" times to fudge and blur the truth just a little: "Nope, your school doesn't let you wear shoes with characters on them," and "When you grow up, you can be anything you want to be!"
Well, confession: today, I was less than scrupulous at a preschool field trip to Legoland. I was already frustrated with this shiny little plastic park-- it's bright, Legorific attractions make one think it's family friendly, yet by the day's end, every mother I was with had come to the same conclusion that NO ONE on the Legoland design and engineering team is a parent, because who designs a theme park where every single ride requires the improbable ratio of one adult over 48" yet less than 170 lbs. combined with their one and only ride partner kid? This ain't Noah's ark, people. Families often come with more than two passengers.
Anyways, my odd combo of one mom plus two kids had eliminated us from the probability of riding most of the rides, but our grand finale attraction of "driving the cars" had gotten the kids excited. Only when we got there, the sign said riders must be between 3-5 years. While Gracie is tall enough to pass for a kindergartner, she's barely 2 1/2. So while waiting in the cars line, Gracie suddenly had a third birthday... "Three, Gracie, say 'I'm three'." We practiced Gracie's new age all the way through the line, complete with a "hold up three fingers" rehearsal. A typically rule-abiding citizen, I was feeling pretty guilty, but Gracie put me in my place. When the line guy asked Gracie how old she was, she held up one chubby little finger and exclaimed, "One!"
So, did she get on anyway?
Yep, she did. And the guilt seeped in even more as I watched the poor line guy chase her around the track all hunched over for two full minutes of damage control as she played brutal bumper cars with every other driver who really was old enough to steer and press the gas pedal on their own. I think I owe someone a chiropractor.
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