If the summer of 2011 was the Summer of Burn It With Fire (and it was!) then 2012 was the Summer of Excessive Kennywood. We stumbled our way into a great deal on season passes very early in the year and took that as a sign that we should stumble our way to Kennywood often. Very often.
And, oh, we did. I lost count of how many times we went, but it was definitely A LOT.
Each and every time we went, Alexis followed a very important ritual. As we would walk past the Music Express, her eyes would dart over to the entrance for the Phantom's Revenge. She would stop, push back her shoulders, and stretch her back as she strutted over to the entrance and stood next to the measuring stick. Each time she would look up with hopeful eyes wishing and hoping that finally ... FINALLY she would be tall enough to ride the biggest roller coaster she's ever seen.
Each time she would fall just a tiny bit short. Each time I would think that if I had just stuck a piece of paper in her shoes, she would be tall enough. She was SO close. So very close.
And then Alexis went and started first grade and I figured the Summer of Excessive Kennywood was over. Alas, the Phantom's Revenge would have to wait another year.
Except.
Except that apparently they feed the kids growth hormones at school because there was a day last week that I swear Alexis returned home taller than she was when she walked out to the bus stop that morning. When I noticed she was suddenly taller, I pulled out a tape measure and told the kid to stand by the wall.
She was tall enough.
We rearranged our entire weekend just so we could make our way to Kennywood one last time before our season tickets expired. Saturday was the big day and, just to be safe, we stopped at Target on along our way so that I could shove some gel inserts into the kid's shoes.
I had told Alexis she was tall enough. I wasn't willing to risk being turned down in a moment of subjective measuring.
As we entered the park, anticipation poured from Alexis' every step. She marched her way to the Phantom's Revenge and she stomped her way up to that measuring stick. She stood tall and held her breath as the bored ride attendant assessed the situation.
She was tall enough. And then some.
With a flourish we began to get in line. Alexis grinned from ear to ear as she considered that she was FINALLY being recognized as a Big Girl.
And then a roller coaster car went zipping by near our heads.
"I need to go to the bathroom," Alexis said as her eyes followed the speeding car.
Now, if *I* had been the one who had said, "I need to go to the bathroom," I would hope that the sea of people would have parted so that I could dash as fast as possible to take care of business. But it was ALEXIS who said it. That child can hold it longer than any human on this planet. In fact, when we went to Disney World right after she started potty training, she made up her mind that she wasn't going to use any public restrooms. She was scared of the automatic flushers. She has a bladder of steel and was able to hold it ALL. DAY. LONG. TWELVE HOURS. WITHOUT SIDE EFFECTS. WHEN SHE WAS THREE YEARS OLD.
Her super power continues to be not going to the bathroom. It's an amazing super power that leaves me completely baffled because SURELY SHE NEEDS TO GO AFTER DRINKING THAT ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WATER. But, no, she doesn't. She can hold water better than a camel.
So, obviously, I was suspicious that She Who Never Asks To Go was suddenly all "I NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" in the middle of the line for the Phantom's Revenge. I'd be willing to play poker against the kid, so I decided to deny her request on the grounds that she was just nervous about trying the big roller coaster.
And with that, hello people who were in line around us! I swear we aren't really the worst parents ever! I swear we really do take our kid to the bathroom when needed! We just happened to be 100% confident that she was bluffing!
We stood in that line for a full 20 minutes with Alexis whining, "I neeeeed to go to the bathroom!" and both the husband and I telling her no. It's OK. You can wait until the end of the year to send us our Parents of the Year Awards. I'm sure we'll do even more to permanently scar the kid so that we will have thoroughly earned them.
When it was finally our turn to board the coaster, Alexis began to cry. Real tears.
MOM OF THE YEAR, RIGHT HERE.
I felt like a complete douchebag as I helped her buckle her seatbelt. But! But! I knew how the story was going to end!
Or at least I hoped I did. It's dangerous playing poker with your own kids. Sometimes they go and decide to be inconsistent just to make you look bad, after all.
We took off and started up the first hill. Alexis cried and sobbed and hid her face. I promised her that we would pay for her therapy and that she could make me go on whatever ride she wanted. She knows that spinny things make me puke, so I envisioned lots of vomiting in my near future.
And then came the peak of the first giant hill. We sat at the top of that hill for what seemed like eternity as I fully and completely regretted not taking Alexis to the bathroom as she had requested eleventy seventeen bajillion times. What if she did hate the ride? What if she peed her pants? WHAT IF I WAS RUINING AMUSEMENT PARKS FOR HER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE?
We slowly began our descent, but quickly picked up speed. Faster and faster and faster, we flew down the hill and then back up another and around and around and up and down and FASTER AND FASTER AND ...
Alexis was screaming. With joy.
A huge grin had broken out on her face and her eyes twinkled with adrenaline-fueled joy as she yelled, "THIS IS SO AWESOME!" at the top of her lungs.
When the ride finally stopped, Alexis turned to me and said, "Let's do it again!" So that's what we did. Over and over and over.
Oh, and she was totally bluffing about the bathroom thing.
THANK GOODNESS.
