The stay-at-home dad: Celebrating the first March Fest carnival

As I chugged my fourth cup of coffee in my bedroom late last Saturday morning, I noticed a small hand shove a colorful flyer under my door.

It read, “March Fest 2022. 2:30 p.m. Attire: No pajamas, no formal wear.”

From that point — around 11:30 a.m. — my wife and I weren’t allowed to leave our bedroom until the start of this March Fest, or, at least, we had to avert our eyes from their scheming if we went to retrieve something elsewhere in the house.

Our four kids didn’t realize it, but this turned out to be one of the greatest gifts they’d ever given us. Three full hours in which we didn’t have to entertain them, feed them or solve 95 problems? Amazing. Short of setting the house on fire, it didn’t matter to me what they were planning out there.

Oh, and I guess the actual March Fest turned out to be pretty fun too.

At 2:35 p.m. (I’m rarely on time for anything), my wife and I emerged with our “not pajamas, not formal” attire and were directed down the hall to the office where our 4-year-old son held two plastic bags full of little bits of paper with the No. 1 written on them. My 10-year-old daughter then handed us each a clipboard with a contract/waiver to sign.

It read:

“I (INSERT NAME HERE) agree to do all the activities and to have fun.”

I told her she couldn’t legally make us do something without informing us about the activities first.

“Ugh, dad, just sign the paper.”

I signed, but I also wrote the word, “poop” at the bottom of the page.

The 4-year-old handed us our bag of “tickets” and then escorted us to the living room. A snack station contained an odd assortment foods, probably because it’d been about two weeks since our last big grocery run.

Snack station — cost: 10 tickets or free at movie time. Options: Air-popped popcorn, a quarter bag of Flamin Hot Cheetos, a bowl of picked-over Halloween candy (a few Starburst, two Twix, single-wrapped Lifesavers and about 45 pieces of Laffy Taffy) and a small tupperware filled with $1.99 candy corn.

There were three games to play, each costing one ticket — a bean bag toss game, a miniature Skee-Ball setup and a kids-made ring toss. The cardboard rings were cut out of an old empty box of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios (aka the greatest cereal of all time) and you had to land them on a skinny tower of Lego blocks.

Playing each game awarded you tickets, thank goodness, because we only received seven tickets at the start. I didn’t understand the reward system though, because my wife scored 80 points in her round of Skee-Ball, and while I nailed the 100 points cup three times, we both received 20 tickets each. The garbage rules of big carnival games apparently also apply to the Wilson Family version.

A fourth activity charged two tickets — my 8-year-old son found a customizable wheel spinner on the internet, then Chromecasted his computer onto our living room TV. He marked the Wheel of Fortune with wedges marked “Egg 1, “Egg 2,” etc. up to 14, plus a category marked with gold bars and another ominously titled, “BAD.” I clicked the button to spin the wheel, landed on “Egg 8,” and my son retrieved the corresponding plastic Easter egg with a piece of paper inside. Mine read, “Free drink at the Drink Cafe.”

Perfect, onto the Drink Cafe, as I’ll need something to help unstick the Laffy Taffy from my teeth. We had three options — Iced tea, “Cold coffee” and orange juice, each delivered in a red plastic cup covered with tin foil with a bendy straw poking out of the top.

I ended up drinking all three by the end of the carnival. The iced tea was exactly that — delicious. The “Coffee” turned out to be hot chocolate mix hastily blended into cold water, and the orange juice was water with a hint of orange-flavored vitamin drink powder. Honestly, I’ve paid much more than one ticket for worse drinks in the past.

My 6-year-old daughter kept giving out free samples of the food, which angered my 10-year-old. And, it turns out, chewing air-popped popcorn and candy corn in your mouth makes it taste like pretty-solid caramel corn. I also found a little pack of fun-sized Spree in the candy bowl, which I got excited about for a hot minute. Then my 10-year-old, noticing my excitement for the candy, tried to charge me 50 tickets for it.

All-in-all, everyone had a blast for a solid hour and a half with no tantrums or hurt feelings (except maybe from me re: the Skee-Ball. I had the better score!). Nobody ever landed on “BAD,” but I’ve been up late at night stewing about what diabolical thing my son planned to do had we landed on that fateful wedge.

Best of all, it was cheaper than a regular carnival. Had we gone to Chuck E. Cheese for the same amount of time, we might’ve had less fun for 75 more dollars. On the other hand, they know how to score Skee Ball properly there, and I’d probably be coming home with a half-dozen pencil toppers as a token of my dominance.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer and stay-at-home dad to four kids, ages 4-10. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.