The kid and I sat above the fairgrounds in a wobbly umbrella-covered enclosure, surging over that precarious point in the ferris wheel where I swore to God we would be pitched over, knocked off balance with our mis-matched weight, and die a horrible death.

We didn’t, and I will freely admit that yes, I am a ride-wuss (and afraid of heights, to boot!)
Even still, there was more to be enjoyed at the Puyallup Spring Fair than the rides, though the wee one was happy to partake of the swing ride, the kiddie coaster, and the aforementioned ferris wheel.

We also saw the baby animals, which included the sweetest five-week-old pygmy goats ever, as well as freshly-hatched chicks, and adult animals like a huge male pig (dudeâ€"those things are…errr…big) sheep, dancing horses, and cattle.  The wee one milked a faux-cow, planted a pumpkin and admired reptiles in the Kid zone, played a game on carny row (lost, of course) and enjoyed cotton candy while waiting in line to catch a troutâ€"and catching one!
She heartily enjoyed herself.

Until the end, as we were walking out.  She grew surly in her inimitable 5 year-old way, and said that I never let her have any fun.

Guh?

Well, yeah, remember that haunted house I wouldn’t let her ride?  That’s what she remembered most from the experience.

What I remembered most?  Moment number one: in line at the trout pond.  Boy walks up to mother in line, she shouts something like, “boy, I told you to keep the gun in the stroller!”  I look down to see a (plastic) semiautomatic toy gun in his hands.

Guns and strollers?  Weird.  Almost as weird as kids on leashes and harnessesâ€"many of them.
Moment number two:  in line at the swing that goes around and around and around and around (the kids look excited about the first three times.  Then they look…bored.)

A man hollers out his kid’s name, she’s about ten feet away from him.  He hollers again, starting to run toward her. He yanks her little hand, hauls her up into the air, and unceremoniously plops her into the stroller behind her. She doesn’t flinch or cry; she’s about my daughter’s age.

Ya gotta love a fair.