Sunday, March 29, 2009
a biscuit, a basket
Yeah, I know it's not even April yet. But we like holidays, and we see no problem with celebrating them for a full month for maximum enjoyment.
Actually, Dr. Crog would probably celebrate his birthday for both April and May, if so indulged.
And also June.
Okay, he'd like to be celebrated all year as some sort of god-king, but that's for another blog post.
Today, we're talking about our neighborhood Spring Fling, which was completely wonderful until the temperature dipped so low that Dr. Crog couldn't feel his fingers. Good food, nice neighbors, generally pleasant suburban American time.
First, there was the Easter Bunny. The Biscuit is still at an age where he's "dat big nice bunny rabbit" and not a terrifying nightmare creature.
What do you mean, you haven't seen Donnie Darko? It's an iconic film, for pete's sake? And I misspelled "Donnie" on the photo to avoid copyright lawsuits. Not because the Biscuit was screeching in my ear for more cantaloupe and I wasn't paying attention.
Next, there were many fun games to play, from lawn bowling to frisbee golf to just puttering around the playground with her buddies.
Little Office joke for the true believers. Live to frolf. At Cornell. Ever heard of it?
And she also ran around with her own little shotput, much like her Big Ben's shotput. Except she could pick this one up. Because it was really a plastic bowling ball and not 15 pounds of solid iron. But we didn't tell *her* that. Look at that smile!
Next, we had some fun times chatting with neighbors, meeting new people, and receiving flyers from the sorely underfunded neighborhood teen babysitting crew. And I later found that this random photograph perfectly exhibited the age-old understanding of the three stages of womanhood. At least, as I exhibited them.
That's right-- my neighborhood is so cool that even the sullen teenagers come to playground parties. The food was good, and the egg hunt was brilliant. We're accustomed to battling 4651 sugar-crazed kids and their powermoms for 2 eggs at the city egg hunt, so sharing 200 eggs with 6 kids on the tennis court was a profound improvement. The Biscuit nailed all sorts of odd plastic eggs filled with good candy, bad candy, weird little toys, and Play-doh. Egg hunts have come a long way since the 80's, when we just had those gnarly little marshmallow eggs that always had shoeprints on them.
Her favorite cloacal treasure is a tiny little slinky.
Even t.rex had fun, rockin' his favorite hat and spitting up into my cleavage.
I was told the hat made him look like a miniature skater, which is a pretty good compliment. I hope he'll be the next Tony Hawk and end up doing a cameo on my favorite TV show and make a kabillion dollars selling ugly shoes and buy me a really nice Clydesdale/Tennesee Walker cross and a foxhunting outfit.
Not that i'm planning the future or anything.