I missed it this year. But two years ago, Holden humored me and let me drag him out of bed at 5:30 in the morning, throw him in the car, race to get hot cocoa and a venti-soy-no-water-chai and then drive around in mayhem trying to find a parking spot in a conspicuous enough looking space to actually find it again in order to trudge across the chilly golf course and watch this.
(Since a picture is worth a thousand words, that run-on sentence up there almost explained it. I think I stopped just short of 900.)
Holden was a little grouchy and didn’t want his picture taken. (Look how little he is!!)
But then he decided that things were ok, because he spotted a balloon that he called his favorite for the next year.
I couldn’t decide which of these was my fave.
And after an hour or so, we left. As we maneuvered our way through the people and traffic, though, I noticed that my gas tank was precariously low. Like the little pointer thing was way below “E.”
This was not good.
We live in the boonies.
And then we ran out of gas trying to find a gas station in the boonies.
So Hank had to come rescue us with the lawn mower’s gas can on his way out of town to go mountain bike riding with his buddies, who just so happened to have flown in from Oklahoma. Woops. We weren’t really on the way out of of town. We were actually on the opposite way. What an adventure.
And this year, the year that I missed, had its own adventure. Evidently, the hot air balloons went north instead of south and a few of them landed right around our house. One neighbor said that they were eating breakfast and looked up to see a hot air balloon moving down our street about 15 feet from the ground.
They thought they had cartoon-warped into the movie, “Up.”
You know what else I missed this weekend? My baby taking his first steps. Sixteen of them on his first trip without hands to hold. SIXTEEN. That darn baby. So no pictures, no video, no squat.