Joy

Last week, I was being chauffeured along a massive stretch of asphalt going 135+ mph. Never once was I afraid. Not because I was in a spectacular piece of German engineering. But because if I did die, heaven would be the Lisle Water Park as viewed through the eyes of my two year old son.

Yesterday we took Elijah to the water park and he redefined the word “joy.” He was suddenly the Mayor Of Water. He’d stroll from one tantrum throwing child to the other and say, “Hi! I Eli!” When a particularly angry tantrum thrower yanked a toy from Eli’s hands, my son simply laughed his head off and scampered back to the kiddie water slide.

The kiddie water slide was awesome. You entered the slide through a giant fish’s mouth and were, um, evacuated out the other end. At one point, as Elijah hung onto the top of the slide while an impatient jerk-kid literally stepped on his hands to get him to head down the giant fish’s digestive tract. Eli laughed the whole way down, shouting, “I did it!” as he slid.

But Eli’s favorite activity was sitting on fountains. There were these holes in the pool that spewed water about a foot into the air. He’d squat down over one of the fountains and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. To the point where it started to get awkward.

After allowing him to smear nacho cheese and smoothie all over his belly and eating his weight in brats at the Jacklich house, Diana (who at 3.5 months pregnant was still more svelte than 90% of the attendees at the water park) decided it was time to head home.

After we arrived home, I popped him in the shower with me and let him play with the hand-shower thing. He immediately resumed the fountain squat routine. I tried to snatch it out of his hands and said, “Give it a rest. You’re creeping me out.”

He aimed the hand-shower thing at my bits and pieces to demonstrate. I turned the shower off while saying, “Yeah, I get it. It feels awesome.”

Di took Elijah upstairs where he immediately went to sleep and dreamt of warm fountains.