Holidays

One of the things that swayed us to choose the Greenbriar house back when we were moving was the then-pending opening of Montfort Park at the eastern end of our block. We heard from people that there were lots of neighborhood events, especially for kids, and we thought that would make our transition to the suburbs feel less strange and new, since we spent a lot of time at Tilles Park a few blocks from our house on Pernod.

Most of me says that the events we've been to at the park have been wonderful. Luke and Megan have certainly had a great time hunting Easter eggs there, riding in the 4th of July bike parades, and racing around the playground with their new friends at the frequent hot dog cookouts there (Memorial Day, Labor Day, middle of summer, etc.). And we all love the park just as part of our daily options. It's the first place that motivated James to walk—he still heads that way almost every time he comes out the front door.

Having said all that, the bigger, more public gatherings have sometimes been hard with James. This past Easter, for example. I remember feeling good because James was walking for this one, we had practiced picking up eggs and putting them in the basket in our front yard (which he loved), and the park had become a place James clearly loved. Whereas in the past he might have spent the event sitting in a stroller or on the ground, sort of motionless and sucking on his tongue, this Easter, I thought, he'd be a step closer to being part of things. I can sometimes be a holiday grinch (ask Julie)—not because I don't like the holidays, but some part of me gets discombobulated with all the out-of-routine racing around and I start muttering. (The Misseys who read this will recognize this phenomenon.) But this past Easter, I felt pretty good heading out the door.

Unfortunately, that lasted about ten seconds. Whether it was the weather or what he ate or some kind of stimulation, James started in on one of his moaning spells. If you've been around him when he does this, it's fairly maddening. He sticks his hand in his mouth, and he moans. Maybe he's hungry, maybe he's thirsty, maybe there's something stuck in his teeth, maybe his teeth hurt, maybe he just likes the feel of his vocal chords vibrating. We have no idea. But when he starts, you never know when he's going to stop, and we don't have a trick that works consistently.

By the time we got to the park, he was a moaning, slobbery-handed mess. He didn't want to do anything but sit on the ground, hand in mouth, moaning. As the ground was damp, pretty soon he was soggy-pantsed to boot. When the hunt started, I had to sort of drag him over to the grass, and then he just sort of sat there while we tried to get him to do with the eggs what he had done so well and been so happy about in practice. Within five minutes of the end of the hunt, I had walked him back home, where I sat feeling some mixture of sadness and panic and self-pity and guilt.

So this is all a long introduction to why this year's 4th of July parade was so fantastic. First, no moaning—good start. Best of all, when we put James on the tricycle, he loved it. As you'll see from the video, he really liked having his feet on the pedals. As long as I kind of held one foot to the pedal and turned it, he would keep the other foot on, and you can see by his attention to it that he was really interested. You can even see him sign "More" unprompted at one point (fists tapping together), and you'll notice as it goes on that there are segments where he seems actively pushing the foot I'm not holding. You'll hear lots of "Good boy!" from Julie and me, and you can even hear the excitement from various neighbors along the way.

Finally, enjoy the sprint finish from another of our children near the end, and the—well, what's the opposite of sprint finish?—from another. (In his defense, he was trying to stay with the flag-bearing Grand Marshal.)