How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Our Fourth of July started with errands. Spouse, Kibi and I went to our neighborhood watering hole (Starbucks) and then the grocery store in the morning to get supplies for our afternoon picnic.

After the grocery store, we spied a roadside stand proclaiming FIREWORKS in huge letters. My husband practically skidded to a halt. "We have to get some fireworks for tonight!"

Now, I don't make a practice of being a party pooper, but buying fireworks was not on my list of priorities for the day, especially because the person I thought would get the biggest kick out of them - my son - would be in bed by 7:30, God willing. Way before it got dark.

Anyway, I acquiesced and we stopped at the fireworks stand. As we pulled in and walked up to the stand, Spouse told me about how he had longed for the permission to let off his own firecrackers as a kid, and I realized we were into Childhood Fantasy Fulfillment. So, no biggie. Kibi and I entertained ourselves looking at all the traffic along Lee Highway while my husband made his purchases. I imagined he'd be back with a couple little sparklers (even I could enjoy those!) and we'd be on our way.

Weeeeellll.... imagine my surprise when he walked back toward us with a 2' by 5' (yes, that's 2X5 FEET, people) PACKAGE OF FIREWORKS. I'm not talking a coupla boxes of caps or sparklers, I'm talking a SUPER DELUXE GIFT BOX OF EVERY SORT OF EXPLOSIVE you could imagine. The package barely fit in the back of our station wagon.

I asked him how much this crate of firecrackers cost us and he quoted me a figure that I can't repeat for fear of the scorn and ridicule that would undoubtedly result, especially in these dismal economic times.

I kept my head down as we pulled into our driveway lest the neighbors see what I allowed my husband to purchase. I imagined typical conversations whispered behind doors: "What in the world are they doing with all those explosives? Talk about dangerous! And to think that they have a 1 year old! What do they think this is, Waco?"

Well, as it turned out, it rained most of the day on Friday so all my husband was able to do was let off a couple of bottle rockets (I don't think this is the actual term; I'm no explosives expert and am therefore winging it) before dark, which of course made Kibi cry because they were way too loud.

So now we have a huge arsenal of explosives in our garage. I'm just waiting for the junk pile in there to ignite them all on one of those horrendously hot D.C. summer days... and blow up the entire house.

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming ...

Don't ask me how I came across this (OK, OK, I was doing a search on "Kibi" to see where this blog turned up) but check out this video of a beatboxing genius on YouTube.  

It's AWESOME.

He's not our little Kibi, but he does the name proud. 

Happy Fourth!

End of an Era?

OK, we've officially come to the Time When K Will Not Sit Still for a Stroller Ride.  I have dreaded this day, because taking him in the jogging stroller is my only opportunity for my lame attempts at exercise.  I suppose I could ask DH if he would watch K early-early in the morning while I do a quick run, but my spouse is, um, NOT a morning person.

Anyway, yesterday I met my friend T for a walk with our little ones and mid-way through K started crying.  He then started WAILING and trying to climb out of the stroller mid-stride.  I tried to ignore this and hide from his line of sight, and all the while pushing the stroller (if he sees me, it only gets worse).  However, he was having none of it.  

He finally had a full blown temper tantrum and so out of sheer embarrassment I picked him up and proceeded to walk while carrying all 22 lbs of him.  Of course the crying stopped INSTANTLY.  And of course within about 4 minutes my arm felt like it was going to fall off onto the sidewalk.  My friend kindly offered me her Baby Bjorn (we haven't used ours in months since K is almost entirely too big for it).  

I was desperate, so I belted up (after several embarrassing pauses to loosen the slack - I am an elephant compared to tiny T) and put K in the Bjorn.  He was actually satisfied for the rest of the walk home (about 30 minutes), but I was a sweating mess.  Fun.  

This morning, I tried again on my own, with a different stroller.  He lasted even less time today - roughly 15 minutes into the trip he was climbing out, standing up as I pushed, wailing as if being tortured, and reaching for me to pick him up.  I'm sure the people driving by thought it was hilarious.  I ditched what I had hoped would be at least a good half hour trek and headed to the local Starbucks, where he sits and watches the trucks go by while I gulp down my morning coffee.

I always took for granted that K would be fine in a stroller while I got much-needed physical activity for the day.  Sigh.  I hope this is just a phase... and not the end of an era.

10 Minutes in the Life of...

So we had a lingering gift certificate from K's birthday in April, and this week we trekked out to Toys R Us to pick out our loot.  We bought this great water table, which I had first seen at a friend's daughter's birthday party.  K was attracted to it like moth to flame, so I figured it would be a good investment for the sticky DC summer.

I was surprised by how right I was!  The first day we tried it out (another almost 90 degree day), I hauled out some lawn chairs and plopped the table in our front yard under the shade of a tree. We spent 45 WHOLE MINUTES outside with no major accidents, meltdowns, or corralling.  It was nearly perfect.  (Of course, you as the parent have to accept the fact that your child will become mercilessly, sopping wet.)  

At one point I marveled that I could've actually gotten through an entire US Weekly (which, conveniently, only requires about 50% concentration so you can devote the remaining 50% to keeping an eye on your kid).

Minus a junky magazine, alas, I sat and observed exactly how he amused himself for that 45 minute stretch.  

Here's a (roughly) 10-minute excerpt:

Picking up the plastic sailboat and running it along the ledge of the table ("ca, ca, ca"!) - 1 minute

Dropping plastic sailboat after overzealous efforts to run it along ledge; toppling over onto his belly on the ground (cranial knockout-near miss with table leg) - 3 seconds

Shimmying under the table to pick up the plastic sailboat - 30 seconds

Trying to backwards-shimmy out from under the table with sailboat in hand - 30 seconds

Discovering grass stuck to his legs after all that shimmying - 30 seconds

Taking the blades of grass off, one by one, and throwing them into the water - 1 minute

Noticing our car parked in the driveway, 15 feet away - 5 seconds

Setting off toward the car ("ca, ca, ca!") and aiming straight for the tires, which he loves to touch (resulting in greasy black hands) - 25 seconds

Swooped up by Mom 2 seconds before touching the greasiest part of a tire - 5 seconds

Fake protest crying, followed by repeat effort to head for the car - 20 seconds

Second swoop by Mom, who distracts him by pointing to the airplane up in the sky (Thank you, Reagan National!) - 5 seconds

Standing on the lawn looking up at the plane - 3 seconds

Noticing a piece of litter in our yard - 2 seconds

Walking over to examine it - 10 seconds

Picking it up and putting in mouth (Mom caught daydreaming) - 3 seconds

Third intervention from Mom, with minimal protest crying (yay!) - 5 seconds

Another distracting effort by Mom ("Let's see if we can scoop the water out of the pool and pour it on the grass!") - 30 seconds (for full demonstration)

Repeated scooping and pouring onto the lawn - 3 whole minutes!!!

Noticing the car in the driveway again - 5 seconds

Repeat steps 7 thru 10, above.