Last night, the last kid didn't drop until midnight. I had our costumes ready, and a bag packed with all the essentials for a day out with the kids. We even had a full tank of gas - given our slack planning abilities, this was like, super-efficient. I slept fitfully, plagued with nightmares that left me irrationally angry with my husband over his misdeeds in my dreams. When I shot awake at 6:00, I decided to spend a few moments alone in the quiet house.

As my coffee started to flow into my cup, my son and youngest daughter came tripping out and velcroed themselves to my legs. I settled them in front of the TV, because I'm lazy like that, and toodled around the kitchen, touching things and moving in a scattershot, random way.

When my husband and oldest joined us, an hour later, I pushed bowls of cereal at them and then started lacing myself into my bodice. I was trussed like a turkey, not the kindest look for a woman of my magnitude, but plenty of lift, if you know what I mean. Nine-hundred hours later, I put the kids into their outfits, and we were out the door in record time.

We were guided to a parking spot that was a good half mile from the entrance of the Faire, and enjoyed walking past about a thousand closer, downright convenient parking spots on our trudge to the gates. Apparently, those were for people who didn't follow the parking guys.

As we entered the Faire, we were serenaded by troupes of musicians, and the kids were fussed over by everyone we passed. My son spent a good ten minutes picking out the sword and shield I promised him. He wanted one that matched the crest on his tunic, and was pleased that they had one, although he was disappointed that it didn't come in gold. Coordination is important.

My oldest lost no time in picking out a sparkly tiara, which rocks, if I do say so. I wanted to get one for myself, too, but I figure I'll borrow hers when I am feeling the need. All the promised booty had been secured, but my son had reached the end of his happiness.

"I want to go home!" He wailed, face down in the straw.

I tried to be nice, I tried being stern, I tried offering him ANYTHING he wanted, but he just wouldn't snap out of it. My husband grew frustrated, my daughters were sulking and I was at a loss. Do you know what fixed it?

Corn on the cob, slathered with butter. That, and a strawberry ice.

After the blood sugar issue was corrected, we soaked up some 'local color' on our way to watch the jousting. My youngest, although perfectly capable of walking, wanted to ride in someone's arms the whole way. "I hoe you!" she said, every time we tried to set her down.

The kids all received many compliments, which they alternately snarled at or ignored. Maybe they were being classist. Whatever, they were a bit rude and I can see we have more work to do. The only person they truly warmed to was a pirate-looking gent who hautily informed my son that he was not a pirate, but a privateer who gave them each fake gemstones. Mere words were not enough. No, but a token in appreciation of their cuteness was well met.

Sitting on the hay bales, chanting for our champion at the jousts, I reached down to lift my youngest into my lap, and touched naked baby butt. She had a pullup on when we left the house. She must have taken it off somewhere, but honestly, I have no idea. I asked her: "Babes, where is your diaper?" She giggled and shrugged. "I took it off!"

I slid another pullup out of my bag and had her step into it with as much nonchalance as I could muster. Doo-dee-doo-dee-dooooo. Just putting a diaper on my child who had a naked butt under her princess dress for who knows how long. I wonder where the original diaper came to rest? Tra la la!

We caught parts of shows, but the kids were pretty squirrelly, and we kept them moving. They were mesmerized by the Grim Reaper's parade, and enjoyed some lively fiddle music under a sprawling oak tree. There was a little girl who my son took a shine to, and he spent a lot of time trying to keep her attention. He showed her his sword. He showed her his sequins. He batted his long eyelashes and showed off his baby sister. He was fuh-lert-ting.

She left with her family, and we made our way to the front of the Faire, so that the kids could play some of the games and ride the man-powered carousel. We bypassed the archery and slingshots in favor of the poultry catapults. The kids lined up at the counter and used hammers to launch cloth chickens at baskets. Now that is good clean fun.

After, we queued the kids up for the carousel - 6 stuffed horses suspended from a wooden frame. The kids were seated, the gentleman running the ride gave it a push start, and then for the next five minutes, they rode in a circle, faster and slower, and faster again, listening to the man tell the story of their ride. They went up a mountain to a beautiful meadow, crossed a stream (all the kids lifted their feet high to avoid the water) and rode under low branches (all the kids ducked their heads) and in general had a wonderful mental adventure, safe on the backs of the whirling horses.

Somehow, I know the memory of that fanciful ride will stick with them for life. As a parent, I am surprised by the way the world appears to the kids. The things that I was sure would make a big impression were no big deal. The color, the pageantry, the fine ladies and handsome gentlemen, the vendors singing, the musicians playing and the dancing, all were nothing compared to a gentle tale enjoyed on a steed going nowhere.

Although, the chicken-ammo was pretty awesome, too.

After the horse ride, my youngest got her second wind, and began to skip and gallop away from us at top speed, singing "Trippity Trot! Trippity Trot!" She blazed a trail out of the gates and back to the car, never letting us get closer than ten feet.

Back in the warm van, the two youngest slept and I made merry, taking photos of my cleavage and silently plotting to answer every unreasonable child's request with "Huzzah!" or "God Save The Queen!"

Another family outing on the books. Whew!

The full photo set is here.