There was once a famous writer who, when asked if she loved writing, replied, “No. But I love having written.”
The Ekka is just like that.
Crowds of people have never been my jam, and heading out with small children on any day like this can be trying, naturally. Oh, you want everything you see? Oh, you’re going to be maxed out on sugar? Oh, you want to run off and lick the floor and contract a disease and spill your drink everywhere but your mouth? SURE! Sounds like FUN! COUNT ME IN.
Even still, I am adamant in my attitude that children are not the bosses of us, so I bundle them up and drag them out anyway because although they are hard work, I never want that to stop us having adventures together. Besides: Woodchop Bar. The Ekka caters for parents and for this we are forever grateful.
You know what I love about the most about the Ekka? The aftermath. Coming home. Herding my kids straight in the bath. Lying around in jammies by mid-afternoon. Taking in strewn showbag contents littering every corner of the kid’s bedroom floor. Ella dressed up as Elsa, singing into a microphone I know will be lost in a week. Billy rummaging through the plastic crap in his showbag, delighted by the sight of new toys. It feels like Christmas morning, the aftermath. Like the morning after Halloween. It’s a childhood rite of passage, so I’m totally on board.
We rushed out the door on our way there and I left my camera at home, but my father-in-law thankfully brought his along and took some pictures so we have a few keepsakes of the day.
There is a version of this post every year, and I love looking at how my children have changed and how traditions have the ability to cement us to the good bits of our stories.