Manic Monday

Do you know what this is?

If you aren’t familiar with this parental torture device, imagine it inflated with approximately 169 cubic inches of air… but not tied off. It comes with a device, fit snugly over the inflating end, which screams when air passes rapidly through it. Like, say, at four a.m. on December twenty-fifth when it is discovered in a child’s Christmas stocking. A fully inflated balloon will zig zag around the room bouncing off furniture and light fixtures, screaming, for a solid ninety seconds. Over and over and over. Santa obviously had it in for the Lybberts this year. (Nor did he take very seriously his commission to hide the stockings really, really well so that the children couldn’t possibly find them before dawn.)

Having said that, the noise of that morning hardly compares to the sound seven reunited toddlers who have missed each other fiercely for two weeks. They haven’t all been missing, but nor have they all been here at one time and the wonder of the reunion is fierce in their little bones. Not to mention lungs; they can beat the ninety second bar on one inhale, easy. And they pack a way bigger punch on the ricochet.

Yup. It’s definitely Monday.

We moved our daily beg-Ms.-Kimber-to-dance-with-us-to-every-song-on-iTunes dance session up several hours in an attempt to focus some of the physical energy we had ricocheting off the walls. They insisted on pictures, and you have to admit, their moves are worthy of being immortalized:

Besides, then I had an excuse to stop dancing. (Wouldn’t want to drop the camera, now, would we?)

On another Manic Monday note, graduate classes are starting up again this weekend. They are also starting up tomorrow for my daughter, but she’s in Hawaii playing hooky, firm in the belief that her professors wouldn’t possibly drop her over four tiny little absences. Ah, for the confidence of youth. (And for an all expense paid vacation to warmer climates. How do I get on that list?)