Beer, Rollercoasters, and the Ravages of Time

Well, we had quite a weekend here at Slapstick Motherhood.

Because Brian and I love a good challenge, we decided to take the whole family (retarded dog included) out to Lancaster PA to see my In-Law's newly purchased house. The itinerary included such awesomeness as Beer Tasting! and Rollercoaster Riding! and Sleeping In The Same Room As Your Twin 9-month-olds!, which wasn't awesome so much as completely annoying and included much farting.

It was a (mostly) successful trip.

The beer tasting was fun. Sort of. Well, the beer was good. I particularly liked this one porter that Brian had procured for me. However, I'll never know how to get it, because when I asked who brewed it, my Father-In-Law (FIL) replied, "this is a pretty good ham sandwich" (there was food too), and Brian followed up with, "I sing way better than this dude; I should start a band" ...at which point I suspected that I'd be driving home.

I also learned that while beer makes most things supremely interesting, there are just some subjects that are beyond boring, even while slightly inebriated.

Read: Clocks.

The beer tasting was at a clock museum. In other words, a building full of rooms and rooms of clocks. Like, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling clocks. And while Brian and my FIL spent the better part of an hour fully absorbed in learning about the complete history of the clock, I considered the practicality of suicide.

Dude

I'm not saying that clocks aren't marvels of technology and completely vital to our society, but if I never see another grandfather clock again, it'll be too soon.

But then it was time to go (hooray!).
And the next day was Hershey Park Day.
And it was everything I hoped it would be.
(But not for Brian, who had partook in a little too much merriment at the beer tasting, and spent most of the day as a living coat rack for purses and what-have-you)

Especially since everyone warned me that since I am now considerably older than the last time I rode roller coasters, I might be unpleasantly surprised what the ravages of time might do to my 1) ability to withstand and 2) enjoyment of loop-de-loops and other such fun. 

But the warnings were (more or less) for naught, and I was (more or less) unscathed.

Well...
Except for this one rollercoaster that happened to be the second steepest drop in America and might have made me crap my pants a little. But in my defense, we must have watched 100+ cars go down that drop while waiting in line and not one...NOT ONE person screamed. Because it was THAT SCARY.
All you heard was the sound of nightmares coming to life and the ping of loose change as it fell out of the pockets of sweating, panicked riders.

And there was this other rollercoaster, which we happened to ride after the aforementioned rollercoaster, so our adrenaline was kind of tapped out, and we figured we had survived the worst, and then we were in the seats, considering how we were about to be rocketed to some ridiculously high MPH over some ridiculously short period of time, and then we were gonna shoot up some ridiculously steep and high track, and maybe we should have prepared ourselves a little.

And then I almost died.
For serious.

And after we staggered through the Exit, we though maybe we'd slow jam the park for a bit, which was not how I used to roll, but well, I'm 30, and apparently these things happen.

The next day, voices hoarse and backs stiff from the jostling, we headed home. But not before a stop in Amish Country, my homeland, where I rocked out Pennsylvania Dutch style and enjoyed some of the dishes of my childhood, and took pictures of horses...
Because I may have worked in a barn since the age of 8, but I CANNOT let a cart and buggy go without taking a picture, petting the horse, and daydreaming that the horse suddenly freaks out and I jump in and save the day, and everyone's all wow, what are the odds that a horse expert would be here to save us?? and I'm all yeah, I'm a trainer. I deal with crazy horses all the time, and everyone cheers and offers me pie.

(still waiting on that last part to happen. One day...)

So it was great to get out with the family.
And it was an excellent test run for when we drive down to South Carolina in a few weeks to visit my Brother-In-Law

And if you're thinking that A) an 11-hour drive down to SC with 9-month-olds is going to suck like nothing has ever sucked before, and B) that is A LOT of In-Law Family Time for a one-month period, I would say that I agree wholeheartedly, but you have to pick your battles, and once your husband allows you to purchase a $*ahemcough* horse, you don't have much of a leg to stand on.

In conclusion:
Beer is great.
Pennsylvania Dutch cooking is great.
Rollercoasters are also great, but as you get older, they also hurt.
Clocks are not great.
Ever.
Neither is sharing a room with your kids.

I hope you all have learned from my experiences.