Horses do not use pacifiers. Good to know.

Oh how the lowly cucumber has been hoisted to such lofty heights.

I shared with Jen a couple weeks ago - as the fetid smell of horse feces started to waft over from St. Paul and local news celebrities began trotting out the usual corn dog references - my utter lack of interest in going to the fair this year.

"But the kids can see the animals! They can touch the animals! They can taste the animals!" Truer words have never been spoken, and yet I was still unmoved. The cost concerned me. The cost tends to spiral to unpredictable realms at the fair, leaving me with the yearly idea that someone could make a killing by opening a restaurant that sells only fair food, doesn't charge $11 to get in the door, and makes at least a passing attempt at scraping the cow poop off your booth.

When Chris and Emily were awesome enough to offer a couple free passes to breach the gates of Minnesota's Big Ol' Get Together, my argument had lost its edge. So off we went today...fairbound.

The bus ride was a smash. We parked in the U lot, and were astonished to find ourselves picked up in a fancy dancy Greyhound-style lounge machine. Before we even boarded, multiple drivers were curbside helping us load the stroller in the belly of the great fairbusbeast.

Easily the greatest benefit of this style of bus is the fantastic visibility it affords all passengers in general, and 19 month olds specifically. They enjoyed that, standing on our lap and looking at the world go by ("Look girls! St. Paul! It's so different!"). Is the safest bus riding method for a toddler having her stand on your lap? No. No it isn't.

Once at the fair and inside, Lily began laying the groundwork for what would end up being an afternoon of solid crankiness. In all, it could have gone a lot worse; but she seems to be running a small fever, and because of that she was very determined and ornery.

First stop was the MPR booth. I wanted to show Mary Lucia to the girls, since they used to (and will again starting next week) listen to her show during the daily slog home from day care. We arrived to find a lot of people milling about and a live act strumming some tunes. 'Crap,' I thought to myself, 'this sounds a lot like Halloween, Alaska.' So I asked the girl next to me. "Halloween, Alaska," she said. Amazing luck, I didn't even look to see who'd be playing, and here it was one of my favorite bands. We stuck it out for a few songs, then took off, never having had the chance to point Mary out to the girls.

After a little time dodging rednecks and hipsters alike, our foody scorecard tallied thusly:

- 1 batch fried pickles (Jen was jonesin' for these, which were sold in the most deviously unforgiving place to bring a doublewide stroller - the food "tent". Luckily, they were actually worth the headache. Pretty damn good.)

- 1 serving corn fritters. (also good, a little dry but with the honey butter they were perfect. And corny.)

- 2 pronto pups. (kind of a cliche, but they sounded good. They were okay.)

- 1 glass chocolate milk (for the girls)

- 1 vanilla shake

Pretty puritanistic, really, compared with previous years' gluttony. We certainly didn't seek out the more enigmatic and interesting in foodstuffs.

I wish we'd gotten a picture of it, but we eventually had to let Lily run around. Jen got her a little backpack today that has a clip-on leash, which we put on her. For the most part, she was kinda okay with it and it did a good job. But being on edge means not dealing well at all with demands of your parents, so when we had to carry her or made her hold our hand (which she loathes), it got very ugly very fast.

At the end, we made it at long last to the animals. First the horse barn. We went in, found a horse stall complete with horse (sometimes you can be hardpressed to find the titular animal in these barns), and held the girls up to the bars for a good long look. Lily was amazed...so much so that she opened her mouth and let her pacifier drop into the hay. "Oh crap," Jen said. "For the love of god," I said. "Neigh," said the horse.

I was primarily concerned with the welfare of this enormous and undoubtedly very, very expensive beast. I trotted over to the two ladies who appeared competent in horsery, found that it was indeed their horse, and pleaded my case. I pointed out that it was a rather humorous thing, but I don't think they saw it quite that way. They were okay about it, but you could tell they thought we were city-fied d-bags.

I wanted so badly for that horse to bring his head up and have that pacifier in his mouth. It never happened.

Next up was the cows. They were nonplussed with the cows. How this is possible, I have no idea, because every time I see a cow I almost shit myself because I forget how gargantuan and bony and impressive they are.

I should mention that they both did the appropriate animal noise for every animal we saw. "Mooo!" "Baaa!" "Eeeee!" (That last one is a monkey. They're geniuses, our girls.)

The sheep went well. They seemed moderately interested in the shearing, and they both enjoyed petting them, which they did respectfully and gently. We were kneeling by a sheep at one point, and the thing let out a bleat that made me jump out of my pants (those guys can be loud), but neither one of the kids was very upset about it. Like their indifference to cows, I found this strange. It's like my kids have loads of farmhand experience that I'm not privvy to.

I want to note, for posterity (and to climb on my "twins are hard" soapbox), that I had in my mind to take some cool pictures of the girls at their first fair. Maybe a shot by the big fair sign, a bunch with the animals, etc. It's just nearly impossible to do this. Lily is poised at every moment to sprint away from us and into whatever danger exists nearby, and Abby is equally poised to jam something toxic into her mouth and crawl into some situation just as dangerous as her sister's. It just doesn't work sometimes. People who've only had one kid at a time, you just don't know how good you've got (or had) it.

Day one hundred and ninety seven.

I did, of course, have time to climb a bench and get a shot of Halloween Alaska. From what I could tell, Dave King is playing drums on a hot plate. It sounded amazing.

Cure for crying = 13 cheese poofs in your piehole. Thanks, Dr. Spock.

Back at home, Abby makes a point in her argument.