Just Add Water

This weekend it was hotter than any number of things: blazes, disreputable women in churches, subtropical locations... we were sweating any number of body parts off, and praising the fact that homes in Northern VA seem to come standard with central air conditioning, as Sunday was chore day and we were expecting guests that evening. In spite of the central a/c, we were still rather warm and looking for fun ways to cool off post-chores.

I was also praising my foresight for having bought a small blue plastic tub that was originally intended for washing dogs. Since I don't bathe our dog for fear of wreaking havoc on her poor fragile psyche (I'm happy to pay a pro for that service), we filled it up for the short guy and put in some sand toys originally intended for the grandparents' house on the Eastern Shore.

It's been about a year since we've filled a paddling pool. We had one for our last summer in Chicago, which Ben loved to sit in on those hot days just before we moved east. At the time, he was not yet walking, and so all he did was sit in it. But he loved it. The kid has a natural affinity for water. In addition to loving his swimming lessons at the community center, he's the kind of kid who can find a puddle in a desert. Ben loves to splash.

So we let him. It was clothing-optional day for the short ones, which in our house includes both Ben and the dog (who doesn't like clothes anyway and had an unfortunate tendency to eat her winter coats that I so lovingly knitted in Chicago). Stripped down, he had a grand old time splashing and playing, reminding me that there are some times when being at home really is better than going somewhere fancy. Beers in hand, sitting on the lounge chairs with our feet in the pool, Nate and I got in some good-quality relaxation time on our shady patio as well. While I relaxed, Ben and Phoebe played drinking games. The boy also spent quality time trying to splash out all the water while the dog beat a hasty retreat to the far corner of our patio and looked on nervously.

"Hey Phoebe, I bet you can't drink the whole pool first!"

Ben, in a developmentally appropriate burst of creativity, decided to invent a new game that I call Daddy Fetch. Slowly, methodically, and with a big grin, each and every toy in his pool was tossed out onto the deck. After Ben found himself toy-less he looked up at me, looked at Nate, and then very happily pointed to his toys and said, "Dada!" I'm proud of him for realizing that Nate was the better candidate for this game, as he's far nicer and blessed with significantly more patience than I. Two rounds were played, and Ben won as Nate, realizing the futility of his efforts, went back into the house to fold the last bit of laundry.

Dump trucks make good pool toys too.

It's a simple thing, really, to toss a kid into a small pool of water. We do it almost every day in the bathtub, but it's different when you can do it outside. It's such a simple thing, really, but for me, summer memories tend to be filled with water, and not just because I spent most of my summers in a lake house in Maine. In addition to swimming in Moose Pond, I have great hazy memories of long summer afternoons playing with friends' slip & slides and playing Marco-Polo in community swimming pools, sprinkler runs and even simply dancing in the rain on a back deck. It was intensely gratifying to realize how easy it is to help my own baby begin to create those experiences and memories. And I know there will be more splashing and playing with water in the weeks and years to come.

Herndon Fest

Everyone needs a good street fair in their lives.

On Thursday night, my not terribly brave dog began to cower under my legs at about 9:30. She's somewhat akin to Hagrid's dog Fang from the Harry Potter series: she can talk a good game, but when push comes to shove, she's happy to let someone else take charge.

Anyway, Ben was already long asleep and we were enjoying our Friday evening catching up on some TV. From my spot on the couch, I saw the fireworks first. They heralded the start of the weekend-long, old fashioned street fair, the Herndon Festival. We went out onto our back deck, where we could see almost the entire fireworks show. Phoebe the dog stayed inside and hid behind the couch. Even as a stodgy old grown-up, I still love watching live fireworks, especially if I can do it from the comfort of my own home. The show was very nice, with a wide variety of colorful blasts, and the booming was satisfyingly loud, but not loud enough to wake up the sleeping beauty. However, my friend in five miles away said she'd heard them too, so the good people at the Herndon Parks & Recreation Department were clearly doing something right.

Fireworks often make me nostalgic for the good old pre-Ben days in Chicago's Humboldt Park. It is euphemistically known as a neighborhood in transition, but one that held a great DIY fireworks show every 4th of July. It was the only time of the year when loud "booms" didn't scare us. As soon as night fell on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th of July every year, we would take our bottle of wine up to the 3rd floor balcony, sit back, and enjoy the fruits of our neighbors' trips across the border to Indiana. In addition to the pure joy of the flashy spectacle, there's something about lighting colored gunpowder on fire that really seems to bring the community together, if only momentarily.

"This way to the fair, Mommy!"

Back to last weekend. Saturday's weather worked in our favor and was absolutely gorgeous. Not too hot, and with a nice breeze blowing, we moseyed down the hill to see Herndon's usually sleepy downtown completely transformed. The Washington Post estimates that about 80,000 fill the 4 city blocks and parking lot every year for the Festival, and I believe them. Not too shabby for a town of about 23,000. Ordinarily, not a lot of excitement happens in downtown Herndon, which is too bad because the space is great. After all, we have a caboose that the kids can climb on in the middle of the town green.

The Caboose on a non-fair day (photo from www.waymarking.com)

We got there in time for lunch and wandered around checking out the craft fair vendors, and the business fair. Ben was rewarded for his stroller time by scoring a free slinky from the Dulles Transportation Corridor folks. Nate, my husband, was rewarded by scoring a free slushy from the 7-Eleven booth.

The slinky could only do so much to stave off the hunger and impatience of a 19 month old, so off we went in search of yummy, greasy, bad for you fair food. Ben approved of this decision as he discovered the wonder that is fresh squeezed lemonade. The kid loves lemons the way I love ice cream.

 Note the presence of the slinky.

 
We ate during one of the musical performances, and after she was done, the green cleared out a little. At which point we ran into a friend from my MOMS Club, and Ben and her daughter got to spend some time interrupting the cornhole game while chasing beach ball. 

Another digression: they call it cornhole here. Now, after 6ish years in Chicago, where we called it bags and it was, seemingly, the official game of Chicagoland barbecues, I just can't wrap my head around the name cornhole. Maybe I need to remove my head from the gutter now that I'm a grownup and all. However, in spite of regional sensitivities, Ben will learn that the true name of the game is bags.

So our first Herndon Festival was a true success, and the slinky is currently sitting in our living room, having been detangled a few times. We didn't go to the carnival this year because the short guy is, well, too short for the rides, and this mama doesn't do Ferris wheels. Next year, though, we will be back, and hopefully there will be some carnival fun in Ben's future.