Fair people.

There is no people watching better than state fair people watching. Crazy hair, unflattering clothes, dirty kids. Upper thigh tattoos of tiger cubs nestled in a patch of grass.

You know, the usual.

I always assumed those people looked like that year-round. Until I looked at my own family on our way out the door to the fair.

Calvin was wearing a mismatched outfit, too-small shoes, and too-short shorts, because he likes to dress himself now. Nate was wearing a blue golf polo with his yellow and black gym shoes because comfort is important when you're walking that much. Audra was wearing a sunhat about eight sizes too small because I left her other one at school. And I was wearing a skirt. With tennis shoes. Because...well, I have no flipping idea.

Obviously this is the fair's fault. The fair made me think it was acceptable to dress up like a tennis player and allow my children to go out in public looking homeless. The fair made me eat kettle corn and mini donuts and cheese fries and a turkey sandwich and a sno cone. The fair, darnit, turned ME into someone for other people to watch.

So, new theory. The fair turns normal people into fair people. All those folks with crazy hair and upper thigh tattoos? Yeah, I'll bet they probably spend the other 364 days of the year well-coiffed and dressed in J.Crew. 

Mom. Seriously. The hat. Get it off.

Kettle C(K?)orn!

Kettle C(K?)orn in the back of a tractor!

Mini donuts!

Giant slide!

We have NEVER seen him more excited. He was jumping up and down yelling "YES! YESSS!" when I took this picture.

Post-slide high!

Crazy hair resulting from too-small hat!

Sno Cones!

Diggers and kid!

Diggers and kids!

Fair people! (A keeper for sure)

Give peas a chance.

I think peas are disgusting. They are the only vegetable I cannot, will not, eat. I was forced to eat them as kid, as was every kid, and I've tried them numerous ways as an adult. I'm an adventurous eater, but it doesn't matter how they are prepared. Hate them. HATE THEM. Gag.

Nate, of course, loves them. So we were curious to see how Calvin would like them. I was certain he'd think they were disgusting. Mushed up baby food peas? Couldn't be anything worse (except maybe those Gerber stage 2 meats).

He scarfed that container down. And every subsequent one, too. Nate gloated, visions of father/son bonding over heaping plates of hot peas dancing in his head.

I was a little put out, as I was hoping for an ally in my fight against the nasty green buggers. Just as Nate swore he'd never make his kids eat beets, I swore I'd never make them eat peas. I wasn't counting on them wanting to eat peas.

So, imagine my delight when I gave Calvin regular old steamed peas on Saturday night, and got this reaction:



And moments later, he tried this old trick:














Which, when it comes to peas, I will totally let him get away with.