Getting a feeling that your two-year-old has more sense than you do isn't pleasant. I had that feeling at a party for my daughter's fifth birthday.
My then-husband and I threw this party with the parents of one of our daughter's friends whose birthday was at about the same time. Since we were saving money by splitting the costs, the four of us decided to spring for a moon bounce. This one was purple and built to look like a storybook castle.
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Jon at another party, probably the same year.
I've never known why the face-painter put that
dot on his forehead. Photo copyright protected.
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My then-husband and I threw this party with the parents of one of our daughter's friends whose birthday was at about the same time. Since we were saving money by splitting the costs, the four of us decided to spring for a moon bounce. This one was purple and built to look like a storybook castle.
That moon bounce was the delight of every moppet at the party; they were jumping, tumbling and fanny-dropping within its mesh-y, net confines and squealing with delight. But by the end of the day, the moppets were tired and the moon bounce sat empty as the children ate or entertained themselves more sedately elsewhere.
One of the other mommies at the party slipped over to me and whispered, "The moon bounce is empty and the rental company's on its way to get it. Let's go play in it!" And even though my fellow mommy and I were curvy, good-sized women, we saw nothing amiss in the two of us frolicking in the moon bounce as though we were forty-pound five-year-olds.
We left the house and giggled ourselves over to the side yard where the moon bounce sat, seemingly glum. The sunlight, which earlier gleamed from its purple hide, was now dimming into dusk. It was obvious to us that the moon bounce was lonely and needed two grown women in it, so we slipped off our shoes and clamored in. I was surprised at how much work it was to hop around in there, and though I was getting winded, I was having fun. A few minutes later, my son, Jon who was two, toddled over and laboriously hauled himself up into the moon bounce.
"Hi, there, Jon!" I called. The exertion and bouncing made my words come out in breathy chunks. He sat near the moon bounce entrance, rolling and bobbing, a duckling at sea. "Did you come to bounce with us?"
"Uh-huh," he smiled. He struggled to gain his footing but fell on his bottom every time one of us mommies landed; still, he remained good-natured about it.
Suddenly, the other mommy lost her balance. She fell backward into the net wall which proceeded to stretch several feet in an ominous, yawning bulge then snap back to fling her across the entire width of the moon bounce. She slammed against the opposite wall which also stretched and bulged before flinging her in a sweaty heap to the middle of the moon bounce floor.
Jon, still on his fanny, placidly watched as the mommy went hurtling. Then he looked at me calmly, the lips on his little gnome face parted, and he spoke these very wise words: "I gettin' outta here, Mommy."
With that, he flipped onto his tummy, swung his legs out of the moon bounce, and with a little thump, plopped onto the grass. He padded away leaving me with the troubling notion that there went a two-year-old who had more smarts than his mother.
And I wondered how many years I had before he'd notice.
One of the other mommies at the party slipped over to me and whispered, "The moon bounce is empty and the rental company's on its way to get it. Let's go play in it!" And even though my fellow mommy and I were curvy, good-sized women, we saw nothing amiss in the two of us frolicking in the moon bounce as though we were forty-pound five-year-olds.
We left the house and giggled ourselves over to the side yard where the moon bounce sat, seemingly glum. The sunlight, which earlier gleamed from its purple hide, was now dimming into dusk. It was obvious to us that the moon bounce was lonely and needed two grown women in it, so we slipped off our shoes and clamored in. I was surprised at how much work it was to hop around in there, and though I was getting winded, I was having fun. A few minutes later, my son, Jon who was two, toddled over and laboriously hauled himself up into the moon bounce.
"Hi, there, Jon!" I called. The exertion and bouncing made my words come out in breathy chunks. He sat near the moon bounce entrance, rolling and bobbing, a duckling at sea. "Did you come to bounce with us?"
"Uh-huh," he smiled. He struggled to gain his footing but fell on his bottom every time one of us mommies landed; still, he remained good-natured about it.
Suddenly, the other mommy lost her balance. She fell backward into the net wall which proceeded to stretch several feet in an ominous, yawning bulge then snap back to fling her across the entire width of the moon bounce. She slammed against the opposite wall which also stretched and bulged before flinging her in a sweaty heap to the middle of the moon bounce floor.
Jon, still on his fanny, placidly watched as the mommy went hurtling. Then he looked at me calmly, the lips on his little gnome face parted, and he spoke these very wise words: "I gettin' outta here, Mommy."
With that, he flipped onto his tummy, swung his legs out of the moon bounce, and with a little thump, plopped onto the grass. He padded away leaving me with the troubling notion that there went a two-year-old who had more smarts than his mother.
And I wondered how many years I had before he'd notice.
