Monkey Man is two years old, and we did not plan a birthday party for him. It was too much for me. Instead, we planned to take him to a performance of a kids’ band and barbecue at a neighborhood bar. That didn’t work out.
After a tense moment or two with Papa, I decided to just let go. We let the Monkey choose the direction we went. He pointed in the direction of the Giglio Feast, something we usually avoid because it’s noisy and loud and crowded and once you’ve been to one feast/carnival/street fair you’ve been to them all, right?
Well, not for a two year old. He loved the smells and colors and sounds and bright stuffed animals hanging from the trailers and crazy rides. We bought him a toy plane and firetruck, which he picked out on his own. We kept walking, then started looking for a place to eat, which was difficult, since we were between brunch and dinner, but we stepped up our pace when Monkey said, “I’m hungry,” for the first time. He doesn’t talk a lot, and sometimes we worry, although we know he has the words and understands everything. He just doesn’t want to talk, it seems.
We ended up going a different direction than we normally do, sat at a sidewalk table and soaked up the ambiance… part of which was a street fair down the block and the band that was playing at said street fair. Fun, actually. And Monkey loved it. He danced, he made new friends. He strutted around. He fell and skinned his lip.
But he had a blast.
So much better, I think, than if we’d had a party at home. Or if we’d gone to that kid’s band. I certainly had a better time, particularly when I got over my annoyance at my ruined plans.