Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I chug it, wincing at the onslaught of carbonation hitting my throat, but the ice and the pop and the cold just makes my brain feel so much better.
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”
“Shit, did I say that out loud?” Because I sound like a tool.
“You did.” Penn laughs. “I drink a diet soda when I have a migraine. It usually works to take the edge off.” She gathers our things, backpack with the water bottles, and makes sure everyone has all their things before looking around for our next destination.
Something more chill, I pray.
The carnival is crowded but not packed with people, mostly due to the fact that it’s cold outside. The jean jacket in Penn’s arms gets thrown on as soon as we begin strolling toward the Fun House.
The Mega Slide.
The dizziness and queasiness wouldn’t have happened if we’d gone on the Bumper Cars or the Bumble Bees like I’d wanted, but my daughter declared the bees were too babyish, and she wasn’t a little kid anymore.
She leads me by the hand, playing tour guide, walking the three of us to the Super Cyclone, a mini roller coaster that looks harmless enough despite the screaming from a few kids currently riding it.
Okay, tiny roller coaster, I can handle you.
Finally, something that won’t make me ill.
When it’s our turn to board, we hand the dude four tickets each and choose our cars, Skipper in the first car with her mother and I in the second.
I barely fit.
Who designed this damn roller coaster car?
It’s a tame ride compared to some coasters I’ve been on, but still faster than the caterpillar kiddie one at the entrance of the carnival. Penelope grins, looking back at me, most likely to see if I’m going to barf or not.
I stifle a laugh.
Actually, this little ride isn’t half bad…and it’s over in the blink of an eye, and we’re deboarding for something new to see.
This whole day has been an adventure, and we haven’t even had lunch, if you don’t count churros, ice cream, and cheese curds as lunch.
Or popcorn?
And a giant cone cup filled with slushy?
Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, I take hold of Penelope’s hand while Skipper once again takes hold of mine. The three of us hold hands, dodging people, and every so often, I have to reach up to adjust the brim of my hat so it covers my eyes and disguises my face, but overall, we’re left alone.
I’m pretty sure it has a lot to do with the fact that the carnival itself is charming and quaint, with a decent size pumpkin patch at the exit, surrounded by a white picket fence and hay bales.
Full of families and noise, zero people expect to see a professional football player walking amongst them, so of course they don’t see one even when they’re looking straight at me as I waltz around the joint.
“Mom, look—pumpkins!” Skipper announces when we reach the patch. “Can we look at them, Mom?”
All I see when I look at this patch is all the hard work it took hauling all those orange things from a farm in the country to this carnival in the middle of the city.
My back hurts thinking about it…
“I guess so,” Penelope says. “It is almost Halloween.”
It’s almost the month of October, so I guess that counts. Cold enough to be, that’s for sure.
“Pumpkin carving?” I squeeze Penelope’s hand with a mock whisper. “That might be a fun thing to do when we get home.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Yeah, actually, that would be fun. I didn’t have anything else planned. This was our big event.”
“And!” I enthuse. “I’ll order food, so neither of us has to cook.”
She offers me a fake swoon. “My hero.”
I pull them along. “Let’s grab a few pumpkins then—or maybe just one big one we can all work on together.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Skipper chimes in, making us both laugh.
Because of all the action nearby, the pumpkin patch isn’t crazy crowded, and we’re able to take our time selecting one. It’s a decent variety, big and small and everything between. Skipper sits on a few and wants her photo taken, and Penelope obliges, gesturing so I hop in the frame, too.
Smiling big, I put my arm around my daughter’s tiny shoulders, and we grin wide.
“Should we take this one?” She pats the one under her rump. It’s large and oval and probably weighs twenty pounds.
“Sure. Just this one?”
Skipper glances around, hands on her little hips. “Maybe that one too, if it’s okay? Oh!” She gasps. “Should we get three? One is you, one is Mom, and the small one is me.”
“A trio.”
“A family,” Skipper corrects, bounding off to find a third to represent herself, and I catch Penelope’s ‘did she just say what I think she said’ expression.