Today I am grateful for the Crayola Experience. Guess where we went yesterday with our daughter-in-law and SIX kids? Yup, six. . .to the Crayola Mecca of Easton, PA.
The place smells like crayons because they are everywhere. The world’s largest crayon is there. It isn’t the largest ball of twine, but it’s close. There are nine million crayon activities, a snack area and the proverbial gift shop where I got John and I these great shirts. . .on sale! Isn’t he soooo cute? Doesn’t he look like he had such a great time? I also got a box of 120 crayons. Utopia!
If you follow my blog, then you already know how much I love crayons. . .specifically Crayola crayons because any others are like trying to color with dead birthday candles. Being in a place surrounded by primary colors and crayons is like an oasis. An expensive oasis.
It was fun. A lot of fun. But I wouldn’t work there if you gave me combat pay, which is what I told the folks working there that they should get! The pushing, shoving, stomping, horsing around in line and general unruliness about sent me to the brink. It seems all manners go out the window when there is a smell of crayon in the air. It’s probably like kid-marijuana. I guess I am old for sure.
The din alone would send me to the moon. I can’t imagine that the staff goes without earplugs. I couldn’t survive all day in that noise. Literally couldn’t survive. They’d find me in the fetal position in a corner covered with waxy bits. Grandpas hearing aid batteries died in the car on the way there so we stopped for new ones. Tactical error. He would have been better off without them. That man knows how to take care of himself, though. Every hour or so he said, “I’m going to put more money in our parking meters.” Then out the door he went. We still had two hours left on them. Each time. Smart man. Feeding the meters became his aerobics for the week.
One phantom child playing on the three-story climbing apparatus, let out an extended screech that sounded like the air raid sirens of my youth, and I was standing directly under the pole with the speaker blasting. Loud. High pitched. Instinct and early training almost sent me under the nearest desk with my hands on the back of my neck. Duck ‘n Cover! I don’t know if that kid was a boy or a girl, but if he/she was mine, I would have yanked him/her out of there and headed straight for the car! Holy busted eardrums, Batman!
Today I am grateful for the Crayola Experience (which is really what they call the place). I have to go to my happy place and color now. And I’m not staying in the lines unless I want too!