That's My Boy
October 12, 2011
(I don't really think I'll ever be able to adequately top my last two entries, short of accidentally setting my hair on fire while being mauled by a squirrel. Yet I'm forging ahead with posting new stuff anyway, lest I fall into performance-anxiety-fueled writer's block, or wind up on the evening news with the headline AREA BLOGGER ARRESTED FOR THROWING LOAVES OF BREAD AT WILDLIFE, LATER TESTS POSITIVE FOR HIGH LEVELS OF FIRE EXTINGUISHER FUMES.)
Noah's grandparents sent him a Stomp Rocket for his birthday. We'd offered a few gift suggestions, all of which were rejected because they wanted to get him an outside toy. (Go ahead and insert your own passive-aggressive subtext to THAT one.) So the Stomp Rocket arrived and Noah promptly assembled it and started stomp-rocketing all over...the ceilings, inside our house. That was pretty fun.
Finally I managed to convince him that it really was a more appropriate toy for OUTSIDE the house. For those of you unfamiliar with the Stomp Rocket, here's how it goes:
Step 1: Attach foam rocket to launching pad stick-thing
Step 2: Stomp on repurposed inflatable mattress foot pump
Step 3: Joy, wonder, awesomesauce
Step 4: Have parent retrieve foam rocket from bushes, tree branches, street, etc. and repeat Steps 1-3 approximately FOUR FRILLION TIMES
However, for the betterment of the community, by which I mean ANYBODY RELATED TO MY DUMB ASS SELF, I would like to add a couple additional steps:
Step 5: Pay close attention to where your child's foot is during the whole "attaching rocket to launch-thing" part
Consider having a little chat with him about this. And cause-and-effect. And propulsion. And...science.
Step 6: GET YOUR BRAIN CHECKED, BECAUSE SERIOUSLY, HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING? YOU'RE TAKING PICTURES OF IT, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.
Step 7: Instead of cursing the spotty cell phone reception in your own front yard, be GRATEFUL that your stupid color-saturated Instagram photo upload failed, you know, the one you were trying to caption with "Stomp Rockets are made of magic! Everybody go buy one!" right at the exact second you took your eyes off your child...who proceeded to shoot a foam rocket directly into his eye socket.
Step 8: Go back inside, offer cold compress and a lollipop
(No black eye, miraculously enough. Just the cool, even stare of a child who thinks this is all your fault.)
Step 9: If anybody asks, blame an icicle