This weekend is Freedom Weekend Aloft, and late yesterday afternoon we spent some time in the front yard staring up at the sky, and watching the hot air balloons float by.
The balloons overhead were a welcome respite from the teething inferno that has become our household. Poor Beckett is sick with a cold, and is cutting 4 teeth. He has been crying for 3 days straight, and refuses to be anywhere but on top of us or in our arms. It’s been a very long week, and we actually tried to sell Beckett to a group of waitresses at Longhorn steak house yesterday afternoon, but they all said they were “done slap full of babies”, and they didn’t need another mouth to feed.
Today we’re going to hide him in a wicker balloon basket with a note pinned to his shirt that reads: Hello. My name is Beckett. I am 14 months old. Please return me to Glenwood Ave once I have enough teeth to eat a taco, and not one day sooner.
Have fun, Beckett. We’ll wave and blow kisses as you float by.