A journey of epic proportions ensued today as we took Evelyn to a park in Avon, Indiana.
By "journey" I mean we drove for about fifteen minutes - it would have been faster but there was the afternoon rush hour to contend with. By "epic proportions," I mean that we only were at the park for about twenty minutes before it was obvious Evie didn't want to slide on the slides, swing on the swings, or climb up the rock wall I tried to stand her on, even though it was clearly made for a full-grown eight year old.
I'm not one to condemn her. As a man about to turn thirty on his next birthday, I'm not a big fan of roller coasters, carnival rides, or riding in a car over a hundred and ten miles per hour. Just never really appealed to me, and the twisting and turning makes my stomach want to show me what it has done to my breakfast. So when my daughter decides that sliding down a thick piece of plastic, connected to a thicker piece of wood, by the lowest bidder, I can't really be too upset.
The one thing she did seem to enjoy was sticking her hand inside a giant sculpture of a turtle's mouth, laughing, and talking to said rock-turtle. The turtle didn't seem to mind.
Other little kids about Evie's height were running around, and I think that added to her discomfort, but who am I to say to a two year old that he should slow down so my daughter can poke a turtle made of granite in the eye? Well, I'm her Dad, so I didn't bother with words, I just tripped him when he came running by the second time.
I'm kidding. I didn't trip a toddler.
But... that would have been okay, right? I mean, looking out for my daughter? Its justifiable tripping, right?
