Firefighters in the Rain

A co-worker let me know that a local store had firefighter rain jackets and umbrellas in LittleBrother’s size. Instead of running right there, I took my time. I forgot. I remembered. I forgot again. Eventually, one sunny morning after we dropped BigBrother off at preschool, we made our way to the store.

Only to find the rain jackets were all gone.

Thankfully his rain jacket from last year still (mostly) fits. I figure he’ll outgrow it by fall but that’s okay. They did, however, have a firefighter umbrella left. LittleBrother has been looking longingly at BigBrother’s Lightning McQueen umbrella for months now. Not that said umbrella got much use during The Snow That Never Ended but it was present in the truck and both boys would talk about walking in the rain and puddle jumping. So, we bought the firefighter umbrella.

And there it sat.

For weeks.


I’m not complaining at the lack of rain (even though I have awesome new boots). But when you’re two (or four) and all you want to do is use your new umbrella, I’m sure day after day after day of gorgeous, sunshiney days is as big a let down as you can imagine. Every day he asked me if he could use his umbrella. Every day I had to explain that we use our umbrellas in the rain. Every single day he gave me that sad little pouty face that breaks my heart. I may or may not have prayed for a little bit of rain.

And rain it did.

He Loves his Umbrella

I think he was happy.


And that little grin almost makes the rain tolerable. Almost.


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Official Warning: Dance Parties are Dangerous!

Last night after supper we decided not to play Mario Kart and, instead, have an After Supper Dance Party. We do this on occasion when we’re all feeling wiggly and jumpy and in the need to burn off a little energy. It’s one of the ways that we, as parents, trick our children into making themselves tired before bed. Very sneaky, I know.

We turn on the 90’s on 9 on Sirius Satellite radio and begin busting our collective move. There were also some bits of horseplay thrown in which I, the Safety Conscious Mom, may or may not have participated. Okay, okay. I did some under chin tickling on both boys because it creates the most wonderful set of giggles ever heard. But otherwise I danced and reminded my three boys (count ’em, it’s three) to be careful.

FireDad was spinning in circles with BigBrother in the air. It’s not an unusual occurrence, even in our house. Kids love to spin. Dads love to spin their kids. I’m sure that somewhere else in the world another Dad was spinning his kid and their house, like ours, was filled with giggles, laughter and whines of the other child saying, “Me now! It’s my turn, Daddy!”

And then it happened.

The sound of giggling was replaced with a thud. BigBrother had wiggled mid-air and FireDad did what every child and every mother has to believe is impossible: he dropped BigBrother. Thankfully we have carpet in the living room where our After Supper Dance Party is held. But, really, that didn’t matter too much. As I rushed to the Scene of the Accident, the pattern of the carpet was starting to show little pin-pricks of blood on his forehead.



I ran for ice and a rag. BigBrother expressed his outrageous anger with FireDad and clung to me. Then he yelled at me because I was freezing him to death. He sobbed. And yelled at his Daddy. And sobbed. And we kept calmly talking to him, helping him to remember the process of breathing in between his sobs and yells. Eventually he calmed down. And began laughing.

So, I took a picture.


Gosh, he’s cute.

I didn’t take this picture so that we could laugh about this story with our potential grandchildren someday. (Well, that was one reason.) I took this picture to tell the Internet that After Supper Dance Parties are DANGEROUS and SHOULD BE AVOIDED AT ALL COSTS. I mean, isn’t that what would happen if some big government agency got hold of this story? Bath toys and slings are bad, and now you can add dance parties, spinning in circles and maybe even laughter to the list. Or, you could, perhaps, use a little common sense, and, maybe, not drop your child on his face while participating in said dance party events. Or, as my parents learned in the 80’s, if you’re walking across the ice with your little girl on your shoulders so her feet don’t get wet, it’s best not to be wearing slippery cowboy boots. Recently, Dee experienced a scary parent moment, too. Lessons are learned everyday.

BigBrother is fine. He went to school today, some carpet pattern still visible on his head. He was his noisy, bouncy, too-happy-for-morning self while getting ready for school. My next thought is how we’re having pictures with the Easter Bunny taken on Tuesday and how this accident will forever be immortalized with the big scary rabbit. It’s almost funny.

In short, no more spinning on hard surfaces. Today. Maybe tomorrow.