"Is it powdy time yet?  Is it powdy time yet?"  This has been the rhetoric of the week.  Powdy is Liam's three-year-old pronunciation of party.
"On Saturday, Liam, as long as the weather is good."  And we added "please bring the sunshine on Saturday" to bedtime prayers because the world would surely end if Saturday brought rain.

The excitement was born on last week's declaration: Liam, if you can wear underwear for a whole week we will have a Pull Up Burning Party [bon fire, feathers in our hair, dancing around said fire and, you guessed it, the burning of the cursed Pull Up who's retirement is LONG overdue].

Saturday dawned cold and dreary.  Heavy grey clouds hung oppressively.  The only sunshine came from Liam who bounced down the stairs with his proudly booming announcement projecting through the house, "My underwear is Bwhy!!!!!"

I warned Liam that it might rain.  He said, "It won't wayne."  I told him that we might have to do it another night.  He said, "No we won't."  I was skeptical.  He didn't have an ounce of doubt in him.  He glanced out the window and shrugged, strong in his convictions.  "It won't wayne."

And it didn't.  By 3:00 the sun was peaking through those heavy clouds and by 5:00, as we left for the fire pit, there were blue skies and it was almost warm.  Four poles hung with Pull Ups stood as beacons for our event.   We played.  Baseball.  Swing.  Bubbles.  Trampoline.  Falling off swing.  Dandelion picking and seed blowing. A lesson in the art of summersaults.  Headbands holding feathers in our hair. Liam chasing a ball and falling - "Owie, my butt-hawks!"  Liam trying to straddle a post - "Owie, my penis!"  (Apparently things are a little more sensitive without the protective layer of diaper.)  Dinner consisted of hot dogs roasted over a fire that was too hot to do anything but burn them, ham and cheese biscuits toasted on wires that bent into the ashes and s'mores, melty, gooey, ashy s'mores.  Perfection.



When it came time for The Burning, Liam needed no encouragement.  He ran from post to post, freeing the offensive big boy nappies, throwing them on the fire in a flourish too fast for my camera to capture.  I did a politically incorrect dance around the fire in celebration.  No one joined me.  I tried to start a "One, Two, Three, Four...Burn the Pull Ups to the floor!"  No one joined me.  I clapped and cheered.  They all laughed at me.  I didn't care.  It was worth celebrating.


Good job, Liam.  I'm proud of you!