Mom’s Day Out at Captain Kid Amusement Park: Seaside Oregon
I didn’t realize how badly I needed our visit to Captain Kid Amusement Park until the moment my kids spotted it from the car and exploded with excitement. We’d barely rolled into Seaside when fingers pointed, voices rose, and suddenly the back seat was a riot of “THERE!” and “Can we go now?” Captain Kid sat just off the highway like a brightly colored promise, all flashing lights and cartoonish rides, daring us to forget our schedule and give in.
So we did.
The second we stepped through the gate, motherhood shifted gears. I was still Mom, of course, still counting heads and scanning for exits, but something lighter crept in. The air smelled like popcorn and salt from the nearby ocean, and laughter came at me from every direction. Big laughs, little laughs, shrieks of joy that only happen when kids feel completely safe being loud.
The go-karts were the first non-negotiable stop. I watched my kids climb into theirs, helmets slightly crooked, hands gripping steering wheels with exaggerated seriousness. When the engines roared to life, I felt that familiar tug in my chest, pride mixed with just a flicker of worry. Then they took off, laughing so hard I could hear it over the motors. I stood at the fence cheering like they were professional racers, my phone forgotten in my pocket because this was one of those moments you don’t want filtered through a screen.
Eventually, they insisted I ride too. I squeezed into a kart, knees up higher than I’d like to admit, and when the light turned green, I laughed harder than they did. Wind whipped my hair, tires squealed around the corners, and for a few glorious laps, I wasn’t the responsible one. I was just another person racing around a track, grinning until my face hurt.
Inside the arcade, time unraveled. Skeeball balls clattered, lights flashed, and my kids ran from machine to machine like explorers discovering treasure. I helped with stubborn buttons, celebrated tiny victories, and watched their faces light up every time tickets spilled out. When we finally counted them up, the prize didn’t matter. It never does. What mattered was how close they stood to me, shoulders pressed against my sides, buzzing with happiness. The rides pulled us next. Spinning cups, gentle boats, little drops that felt enormous to them. I rode beside them, holding hands, listening to their laughter turn into breathless giggles. I memorized the way their eyes widened, the way they leaned into me without thinking.
As the sun began to lower, Captain Kid transformed. Lights blinked on one by one, glowing against the coastal evening. The Ferris wheel turned slowly, lifting riders into the soft Seaside sky. From the ground, I watched families rise and fall, silhouettes framed by color and motion. When my kids asked to ride it together, I said yes without hesitation.
At the top, Seaside stretched out below us. The town lights flickered, the ocean hovered just beyond, dark and endless. My kids leaned over the rail, pointing, narrating everything they saw. I stood between them, arms wrapped tight, thinking about how fast these moments pass and how rare it is to feel so completely present.
When we finally left, their steps were slower, their voices softer, tired in the best way. We walked back to the car under glowing signs and fading music, pockets stuffed with trinkets and hearts full of something heavier. Captain Kid hadn’t just entertained us. It had given us a shared adventure, a memory of laughter, lights, and the magic of being together.
Driving away, I glanced in the rearview mirror at sleepy faces and knew this day would come back to me years from now. Not as a checklist item from a trip, but as a feeling. One perfect Seaside evening where motherhood wasn’t about managing the moment, but living and playing right alongside them.
