It’s always astonishing how these expos become the must-attend event of the month. We weren’t planning to go, but after everybody and their uncle John said they were going and we should too, we piled into the car and figured today would be family fun day. My butt.

The first thing we saw: crowds, crowds, crowds. We were there from roughly noon to 3 pm, and by the time we left, we were at the point we had to literally shove or push our way through. The second thing we noticed: the place was extremely kid-unfriendly.

This was SUCH a pain, since just about every third registrant had brought kids. Of course they did — what an excellent opportunity to finally introduce your kids to your co-workers and your old friends and to show your kids the wonderful community you’re raising them in, all in a kid-friendly environment. Right? I wish.

There were children’s activities advertised on the expo’s website. We never found them. I saw one expo-goer say they were canceled. Okay, so now we have an extremely crowded, “oops, sorry, was that your toe? ooh, sorry again” venue and literally hundreds of kids just drowning in this sea of grownups and nothing to keep them busy.

No biggie. That’s part of a parent’s job, to simultaneously corral and entertain the kids. But it amazed me just how other people ignore even the most obvious of social niceties.

In getting out of one of the exhibit rooms, there was a bottleneck of people, further hampered by eddies of people suddenly overcome by the need to stop and chat. One woman had two kids, one elementary-school age, and the other, maybe one year old, in a stroller. The older kid was doing okay. The kid in the stroller, however, was not. She was very obviously aware of this, trying in earnest to make her way out of the room so she could tend to him.

While she was stuck there in the crowd around the door and unable to turn to the front of the stroller, I talked to the kid and made silly faces, played peek-a-boo, and tickle monster, anything to keep him temporarily happy. The woman later thanked me. But as they made their way past me toward the exit and freedom, I saw no less than three (count them: that’s one, two, thuh-ree) people stop her and say, “Your baby’s crying.” One even had the nerve to say, “You should take care of him.” Hello, Captain Obvious? How about you help out for a minute and move?!

By the end of our time at the Expo, Leah was very obviously cranky. She’d been a good trooper so far, tolerating three hours of staring at people’s hips, people telling her for the gazillionth time that she had pretty red hair, and stopping at booth after booth in which she had absolutely zero interest. By 3 o clock, she’d had it. She started to fuss, hit us, beg to go to the store, and to run away. We caught her, pulled her into a corner, and started having one of our serious parenting talks (”yes, we’re leaving soon, we’ll get you some lunch and take you to the store, but for right now you need to listen to mommy and daddy and stay close. Do you understand? Don’t look away when I’m talking to you! Do you understand me?!”).

While we were in our kiddie time-out corner, it was obvious what we were doing — CK was crouching to Leah’s level, signing very heatedly. Leah’s face was crumpling up and frustration and near-tears. I was standing behind both of them, blocking Leah’s view of the expo and ready if CK needed reinforcement. Very obviously, this is a family-only moment. Apparently not. A couple of people came up to us and interrupted our reprimands to address Leah directly and say “hello, what a beautiful girl!” Yeah. She already knows. Way to go. Do you mind? Can we do our job now?

I don’t know what the official number of attendees was, but I think it’s safe to say there were upwards of 100 kids there. I saw quite a few strollers, many steered by a lone parent or adult on duty. The crowds presented enough of an obstacle for these strollers; it was doubly complicated by the fact that exhibits were on two floors and there was only one staircase (that I saw, anyway) linking the two. Literally every time we were on those stairs, we saw someone struggling with a stroller and two or three (or in one instance, four) kids in tow.

(On a side note, I saw several people in wheelchairs at the expo too. I didn’t see them downstairs, though. Hmm. I hope they didn’t have to forego half the exhibits just because of that.)

The only bright spots in the expo for us or for Leah were, surprisingly, booths.

The RE/MAX booth handed out helium balloons tied to one of those potato chip bag clips (with their logo on it, of course). This ended up being a godsend. We clipped the balloon onto Leah’s clothing and instantly relaxed about the potential for losing her in that sea of humanity. Quite a few other parents did the same thing, even though we annoyed sooo many people when kids walked past adults and the trailing balloon would bop them unexpectedly in their faces.

Jimmy and Gail Gore’s Learning Blocks booth was the only one Leah showed any interest in, and it was a sorely needed relief for her (and us), after all the relay and financial help booths that seem to clog up these kind of trade shows.

We left unsure of what to think. We were glad to have gone; at the same time we were glad to escape.