Soybeans, Too

Back Home Again in Indiana

4th of July: Toddler Edition

No one loves America more than our neighbors in Joplin, but our neighbors here in Westfield are doing their damnedest to take that title for themselves.

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It had already been a long day: I’d been to Orangetheory at 5 in the am like a completely sane person, Boogs and I had been to Super Target and to Canada to get cheese curds, and all 3 of us had been to the Children’s Museum and lived through the overtired consequences that came along with that adventure. I put Boogs to bed at his normal time and I went to bed at 9. Around 9:30 it became clear I wasn’t going to be sleeping because our neighbors were going to be blowing things up. I laid there thinking I would gladly volunteer as sleepless tribute if that meant Boogser would keep sleeping. But Thomas Jefferson must have been off getting hot with the French because my prayers were not answered and 15 minutes later, Boogs woke up.

The first time he woke up I thought maybe it was just because he had lost his pacifier (his dentist said it’s fine until he’s 3 – leave me alone). The second time he woke up I strongly suspected it was related to the overzealous display of love for America going on outside his window. This theory was confirmed when he repeatedly asked me “what’s that” every time he heard the fireworks. I figured I’d sit on the floor by his crib and ride it out, but when he started inching closer and closer to the side of the crib where I was sitting, I broke all the rules and picked him up. As soon as I did, he latched on for dear life; if crawling into my skin had been an option, he would have taken it.

We then spent the next hour and a half moving from his room to the living room and back again trying to find the spot that had the best combination of sound machine and dishwasher to drown out the sound of the fireworks. At some point he passed out on me (highlight of the year to be honest), and around 11 it died down enough that I could get him back to bed.

If you think that’s where this story ends, you don’t know my child at all. He spent a solid 30 minutes this morning telling me all about how we sat on the little couch because the fireworks were loud and scary and he was crying. Based on his continuing to recount the tale of the one time pool water went up his nose last summer, I imagine this 4th of July tale will be one that’s passed down for generations to come. His unborn grandchildren are already rolling their eyes.

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This entry was posted on July 5, 2018 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , .
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