Cramping My Style

This week we went to Santa’s Village in Jefferson, NH. Why someone decided to put a children’s amusement park in the middle of upstate New Hampshire, a place that has no more geographical significance other than it is in the middle of upstate New Hampshire, I have no idea. Its Christmas theme was pleasantly muted and it allowed us to get down to the business at hand…exhaust the children with speed, spins, and silliness.

The most important observation of the park is that you must be taller than 42 inches to ride without the accompaniment of an adult. And with Molloy being shorter than the font size used to write the number 42 on the sign, I had to accompany her on almost every ride. But the diabolical aspect of the rides' designs are that you have to actually be smaller than 42 inches to fit; which adults most certainly are not. So, while daddy bends, contorts, and sometimes breaks, he finds a way to pack his frame into a satanic confinement only to say, “OK, now gimme the kid.” Molloy is handed into my arms to be squashed into any remaining space the way cartoon characters stomp on foes that are too large to fit into the hole. Just when you think you are good to go, a pimply-faced iTeen comes by to ensure your seatbelt is fastened securely. It is only then that you realize what that sharp lump under your butt is. So now you have to figure out how to get it from under you to above you without the ability to move and then buckle it across both you and your giddy, yet smothering daughter. After a Christmas miracle, you manage to snap it closed around you, but now the safety bar has to come forward and lock into place. I would argue there is nothing safe about adding yet another layer of immobility on a fast moving vehicle, but apparently their insurance company thinks otherwise. So I inhale, the bar snaps into place and I start to consider the length of time I can hold my breath.

As the ride pulls out of the bay, I now see the sign that says Keep All Arms and Legs Inside the Car, to which I don’t know whether to laugh or cry...where the heck else am I supposed to put my arms and legs? I feel like a Jack in the Box and if some one dares to open the lid I’ll spring out with arms and legs akimbo.

But to make matters worse, the park is not crowded on this Tuesday afternoon (in the middle of upstate New Hampshire) and we don’t need to exit the ride when it finishes and so we go around again…and again…and again.

And so the day went; with the kids racing around the park dialing up the speed and daddy adding his chiropractor's phone number to his speed dial.