“Can we go through the car wash?” Sonny asked expectantly.
“Yes, can we?” added Janet.
“Why not!” I replied (it was mothers day after all!?!)
And so began another experience to leave Sonny scarred for the remainder of his life.
It all started encouragingly with both the boys excitedly watching the car in front pass through. It was as we drove into position and the car wash roared into life that the atmosphere quickly went from general wonderment to absolute terror.
Sonny began his journey sat in his car seat, and it ended with him on my lap, cowering under the steering wheel, tears streaming down his face, his eyes squeezed tight (and covered by his hands for added security), and the repeated cry of,
“MAKE IT STOP!”
After the commotion, and while returning him to the back seat he casually announced,
“Wow, that was really exciting!”
We had a similar experience at a park in Bolton last year, only the car wash on this occasion was a ‘mini’ roller-coaster.
I have numerous defences for that mistake though. Firstly, my little sister was with me and at no point questioned my judgment. Well, that’s not entirely true, she did have a few reservations but only because she assumed I was putting an eighteen-month old on a roller-coaster on his own?!?
Secondly, the attendant never questioned my decision either. Then again, if I’m entrusting the welfare of my child to a non-English speaking fairground gypsy with only profit in mind then maybe I should take a long hard look at myself?
Anyway, as it turned out the roller-coaster was a little bit bigger … and faster than I’d anticipated. It started tranquilly enough, then after the second gentle dip it thrust forward at breakneck speed (quite literally, my head almost became detached from my body) and whipped round the remaining corners throwing both me and a traumatised Sonny in every direction before spluttering back to its initial sedate speed. This allowed Sonny the opportunity to inform me that he’d very much like to get off immediately as we passed my sister who was doubled over with laughter, before the damn thing set off again … another three times!
By the third time round poor Sonny was too traumatised to complain (which I convinced myself meant he’d grown to love it) and my little sister later admitted that by this point she’d maybe leaked just a little bit of wee due to finding the whole performance far funnier than she should have, given she was both a sister and an auntie!?!