Last weekend, we took yet another trip to Traintown. I've lost count how many times I've gone with the kids, let alone how many times I've been since I was a little girl. You'd think that I'd be sick of it by now, not so. The steam engine ready to pull it's pint sized passengers, puffs away and Anna eagerly shouts, "I hear the whistle!"
Twists and turns and through the tunnel, Kieran and Anna raise their hands in the air and joyfully scream. There's no such thing as afraid of the dark while at Traintown. We arrive at our stop to feed the animals that seem like they have been frozen in time from 30 short years ago.
It's no matter that we have the same pictures each time we go...
of the schoolhouse,
of the outhouse.
It's no matter that we have the same pictures waiting for the train ride to arrive...
waiting for the train to chugga...
It's still a thrill to ride the merry-go-round...
to look as though you are riding for the very first time with the simple joy of going up and down,
and around and around...
even at 29 weeks pregnant.
It wouldn't be another trip to Traintown, if it wasn't topped off with a coin operated horse that whips pigtails in the wind,
and has little boys pretending to be a jockey (while Nonna commentates in the background)
who of course,
wins the race!
No, it's not just another trip to Traintown. It's another day to be care-free. Another day to have fun. Another day to love life. Another day to be thankful of my roots where I was born and raised.
And another day to know that so strong as the roots I've been given, I am strong enough to pass on to them:
that one day, they will take their children and me as their Nonna,
to another trip
to another trip