Odin got a roller coaster for his birthday last month. My husband finally decided our house was big enough to set it up inside instead of waiting for warmer weather (really we just wanted the two huge boxes out of our damn mud room already.) This was the first trial run. Just for the record, I’m an idiot. You’ll see why:
After the kids went to bed we hauled the ramp upstairs into our bedroom so they wouldn’t be flying into the wall or their dumb mom who failed as being a backstop/videographer. Instead of dents in my drywall I now have children coming into my room at the butt crack of dawn and instead of groggily saying, “I want to snuggle,” they say, “Can we ride?!?”
“No damnit! Your baby sister is sleeping and if you wake her you’ll wake the beast in me…again,” I say in my head as I verbally plead, “Come lay down. You can ride it later.” And then, reluctantly on their part, we snuggle until the sun fully rises to it’s proper place above the horizon.
Having had this thing set up for a few days now it seems that going down the safe way is no longer fun enough. Now they go down backwards or jump off at the end of their ride while I’m not looking. Anything to make their ramp ride more adrenaline inducing. Typical kids. I can’t blame them. I did the same shit. Probably worse at their age.
Aside from being fun, this toy has proven to be a means through which my kids can learn cause and effect. For instance, today my son decided that it would be a great idea to put his wooden stepstool in front of the ramp and then bang into it as he sped down the course. As it turns out, the stepstool won and he wound up with a busted foot (nothing a ducky-shaped icepack couldn’t fix.) He has since decided that banging into wooden stepstools at high speeds is not, in fact, a good idea.
Wooden stepstool vs. human foot. Stepstool wins just about every time. Lesson learned. Well, at least until his 3 year-old amnesia sets in and he has to relearn this hard lesson the hard way, again.