This past weekend was our neighborhood’s annual block party, and my kids were so excited I honestly thought they were going to piss themselves. From the moment they woke up on Saturday morning, they asked if it was time for the block party and proceeded to repeat that same question every five minutes for the next eight hours. When it was finally time to put up the barricades to block down the street, they couldn’t get out the door fast enough to tear up the pavement.
To them, the absolute coolest part of the block party was the fact that they got to ride their bikes like complete maniacs all around the street without any fear whatsoever of being turned into roadkill by oncoming cars. So, naturally, they were all about pimping out their rides with the other neighborhood kids for the big pet and bike parade. They used streamers, balloons, cards in the spokes, the whole nine yards till they had some super juiced up looking wheels to strut. And when it was time to march down the street, they happily joined the other whopping ten bikers in the procession, as well as three dogs, a hamster, and a toad. I was seeing some major competition for the Macy’s Day Parade.
And it wouldn’t be a real block party if our kids didn’t gorge themselves on any and all kinds of crap they could get their dirty little hands on. Our neighbors had rented a popcorn maker and a snow cone machine for all the kids, so, of course, my two munchers absolutely chowed down on multiple servings of each, thus killing any chance whatsoever of them eating anything substantial for dinner later on that night. My daughter actually even had the balls to try to hide her third snow cone from me, but she clearly forgot about the eyes in the back of my head. Lucky for her, I was just a little too go-with-the-flow (that’s code for too much Chardonnay) to get my panties all in a bunch over too much junkfood consumption.
The festivities concluded with an outdoor movie on our front lawn. We projected “Over the Hedge” onto a sheet hung from our front porch, while all the little shits from the hood sat littering our yard with popcorn and candy wrappings. One of the other moms had given out glow stick bracelets, so each kid was gleaming with a combination of excitement and exhaustion by that point of the evening. I was so glad when some other older punk from down the street announced a game of flashlight tag, which sent a good portion of our viewing audience off and running. My kids were pooped, and so was I.
I thought for sure that my tired troops would take the rare opportunity to sleep in after such a long day of fun, but, of course, my kids seem to think that the early bird really does catch that jackass worm so they were up and at ’em, ready to get crackin’ on yet another day. I have to hand it to the hubby once again for getting up with them and letting Mama get a little more shut-eye, cause I was completely worn out. When I finally did make my way downstairs, though, I happened to notice that a pink glowstick bracelet was sitting smack dab in the center of my dining room table, the table that’s completely off limits to all things kid-related.
When I picked up the bracelet, I was unpleasantly surprised to see that the damn thing had exploded from the inside out. I had a big glob of pink goo staring at me from my beautiful cherry-colored wood table. And when I tried to wipe up the goo, it decided to take that beautiful cherry color right along with it. I literally gasped out loud with a “Oh no you didn’t” type of pronouncement when I saw that big glaring colorless streak on the otherwise shiny surface. I wanted to wring my daughter’s neck for being so careless. This was one of the last remaining places in the house that didn’t have a kid’s stamp of approval put on it. I immediately declared the dining room table a no-fly zone for everyone, including my husband. Nothing shall ever sit on that table again unless it’s a Thanksgiving turkey or a Christmas ham.
Despite the glow stick fiasco, however, the block party was an absolute blast. My kids are already asking when the next one is. It’s gonna be really hard for them to get used to having to share the street with the cars again. My son already tried to dash over to the other side on his scooter without even a second thought. So, I guess we’re all slowly adjusting back to reality again. For that one day, though, the kids got to rule the road, and to them, that’s a memory worth a thousand glow stick explosions and then some.