Hey, y'all -
We got back to Missoula just in time to be subjected to the Western Montana Fair. We have a tradition of going with our friends the Lindauers; I remember when you and Amya were tiny little things who held hands all day because you were so overwhelmed by the fair experience. No longer.
There's some rule about sled dogs where if one gets away, he'll come back, but if more than one run off together, you'll probably never see them again because they're off to start their own pack. That's basically you and Amya at the fair. Enjoy roaming the tundra looking for elk.
But this corn dog-stuffing, thrill-seeking 5-year-old is what I will remember most about the fair:
Most of the carnival rides have a measuring stick hanging off the fence with the height minimum for the ride - usually 42". Hagen is 40.5 on a good day with thick soles.
Still, he would walk up to the ride operators and smile and shrug his shoulders and say "Am I tall enough for this? Because I feel like I'm 42 inches."
It was just like when southern women get pulled over by a trooper and bat their lashes and say, "How fast did you say I was going? Because I feel like I was going 35." Or when I tell my doctor, "How much does that scale say I weigh? Because I feel like I weigh 120." Lies, lies, lies.
But I don't have to tell y'all, it worked:
The kids all had an all-you-can-ride wristband, but for the bigger, scarier rides, little children have to ride with someone who is at least 55" tall. It's such a scam because it's 4 tickets ($4) for an adult to ride a single ride. Lucky for me, the Lindauers have a 6th grade daughter who plays basketball and more than meets that requirement. I made a deal with her: I'll pay you a dollar for every ride you go on with Hagen. You make money, he gets to ride, I don't throw up in public. Win, win, win. Run me a tab.
If you look really closely here, you can see little Hagen legs peeking out between the girls:
Love,
Mom
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