There are now two words in the English language I officially cannot pronounce: "statistics" and "Puyallup." Puyallup is a town here in Washington State, and for the life of me, I cannot say it right. I say PEW-YALL-UP then PULL-YA-ALL-UP then PEW-YAHL-LIP and all are wrong. I don't care because you don't have to be able to say it right to attend the Puyallup Fair, which is what I did today on this warm sunny day.

This was the first time MissSix and Mr11 had been to a big traditional fair, with all its wild sights and sounds and smells and tempatations. It was the first time I had to explain to them how carnival games are not really winnable and why, how I cannot ride carnival rides anymore because they would make Mommy puke and whine, and how cotton candy and a lemonade is not really a sufficient dinner choice. But I also got to tell them why I like smelling hay, how amusing I find chickens, and about the joy of grilled onions on a burger. It was fun to see things through their eyes, the excitement of choosing which rides to go on, watching them laugh at a magician, and imagining their perspective while threading through the crowds -- heat, flashes of color, my hand reaching back, the barkers calling out for just one more person to play Whack-A-Mole for $3.00 a try. I will let these subsections of photos tell the rest of the story:


I love rides, even though I have lost the ability to go on them. They are so pretty and interesting, and they make people so damn happy. Usually.


There is never a lack of interesting people at the fair. Yes.


Mmmmmmmm. Expensive, unhealthy, delicious food.

And finally...


Cute and funny as hell, and boldly educational.

It's a good thing I am not a statistician in the town of Puyallup, because I would have to spend all my paycheck on speech therapy. But they sure know how to put on a good old-fashioned fair there, you betcha.