In an hour I have to take my four children to Mister Bubby’s school carnival.  I want to go to the school carnival about as much as I want a hole in the head.  It would be one thing if my children enjoyed the school carnival, but they don’t.  Not really.  The younger ones are bored and tend to wander off in opposite directions and/or insist on being carried the entire time, and the older ones are only there for the cotton candy and the overpriced hot dogs, after which they proceed to complain that not only are they bored, but they’re also still hungry.

There are plenty of carnival games to play, none of which interest any of my kids.  There are a couple of inflatable bouncers with lines a mile long, which my kids might tolerate standing in long enough to go on the bouncer once, but certainly not more than twice, and not without Elvis protesting loudly and trying to push his way through to the front and me dragging him back, while the baby cries because I had to put her down to pick up Elvis, and well-meaning adults ask if they can be of assistance, but they can’t.  No one can assist me.  I’ve tried to let people assist me, and it just never works out.

So why don’t we skip the carnival, since no one really likes it that much?  Because the older kids think they like it.  They always forget how little they enjoyed it the year before.  So every year we end up spending $30 on junk food and another $10-15 on tickets so they can bounce on bouncers once or twice and attempt one or two carnival games and then we give the extra dozen tickets we can’t seem to find uses for to some other people who know how to enjoy carnivals, and we finally can go home.  I hate the school carnival.

Tomorrow is our ward conference at church, which doesn’t mean anything except that they tack on an extra 20 minutes to the chapel service.  When does 20 minutes feel like 20,000 minutes?  When you’re stuck in the chapel with four children and you ran out of fruit snacks and gold fish 45 minutes earlier.

This weekend is lame.