We’ve lived in Boston for seven years.  We have never ventured into Boston for the Fourth of July, citing crowds and tourists.  After all, July is hot enough as it is.  Who wants to battle hundreds of thousands of people?  Not us.  Until this year, our last opportunity to see the Boston Pops in the Hatch Shell.

Not knowing what it would be like, we headed down at 8:00 in the morning, dragging folding chairs, a blanket, and  very cooperative toddler.  We stood in line for about twenty minutes before getting our wrist bands and scoping out the perfect place.  Our seats were fantastic, right next to the camera stand.

At this point, I assumed we were going home.  I was dressed in jeans and a heavy t-shirt.  Our phones weren’t fully charged.  We had nothing to entertain Robbie.  And we had eleven hours until the show started.  Instead, we stayed.  We had brunch at the Trident Bookstore, and I made my first ever purchase on Newbury Street.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t an awesome purchase – just a pink, sleeveless shirt with a blue shell and “Life is Good” in the center.

Robbie ran around like a mad man for hours: visiting the playground five times, walking around the oval; running back and forth to the chairs to get things he as just sure he had to have.  By the end of the day, his hair was thick with salt.  He stopped wearing shoes around 4:00 in the afternoon.

Robbie hung in there like a champ.  It was hot.  He didn’t have any toy or phones to play with.  Despite all of this, he hung in there until around 6:00.  He started crying for milk and cereal, his usual bedtime routine.  After about ten minutes, he finally sat down as his last tears slid down his filthy cheeks.  Robbie looked at me and said, “I can’t cry anymore, Mom.  I’m a big boy, not a baby.  No more crying.”

He hung in there through the concert (amazing, by the way – Jennifer Hudson is unreal in person), the mandatory evacuation, and subsequent return to the oval.  But, bless his heart, he fell asleep before the fireworks started.  The one thing he waited for all day.  And, just as the fireworks started, the deluge began.  There we stood, the three of us, crowded under an umbrella, watching one of the most spectacular fireworks shows I’ve ever seen through the trees.

Was it worth it?  Absolutely.  Would I do it again?  Maybe, but differently.  And with more preparation.  But Robbie?  He was up at 9:00, asking to do it again.

We started going to the Reservoir right before Robbie turned one.  The first year, he crawled around and ate sand.  He tried to walk in the water, taking his first stilted steps from me to Justin.  Last year, he went into the water but only with one of us with him.  He needed constant supervision.  This year is, well, awesome.

Rob loves going to the “small” beach.  He builds roads and sand castles.  He goes swimming in the water. He still steps on other kids’ sand castles, which we’re working on.  The other day, we took a picnic and stayed for the whole day.  There is nothing like watching this kid play.

About a year ago, I bought a Groupon for a place called Animal Adventure.  It looked pretty awesome; the website boasted exotic animals.  I figured it was like a zoo but maybe a little more hands-on.  It was nothing like I expected.  Well, except for the animals.  Those were pretty much what I expected.

When we drove up, I was sure we were in the wrong place.  There were two other cars in the parking lot, which was in front of a green trailer.  What in the world had we gotten ourselves into?  Two chickens and a wooden alligator greeted us.  We stepped inside to a tank of alligators – and no people.

Eventually, someone found us and put on on a tour.  We saw the reptile room, where Robbie pet  snake, much to his delight.  We looked at horses, sheep, and pet a goat.  We traveled over to the tortoise pen where Robbie got a little one-on-one time with reptiles.  He also tried to sneak into the fox enclosure.  Twice.

When we headed back inside, things got a little more interesting.  Here, Robbie got to pet some pretty awesome animals: chinchilla, baby bunny, and hedgehog.  And then he asked to pet the rat.  Of all things. I’m not sure how to feel about the delight with which he pet the rat, playing with it’s tail.  Robbie talked to a parrot who professed her love to him, saw some kangaroos, monkeys, alligators, and crocodiles.

Now, while I was somewhat disappointed, Robbie thought it was incredible.  He went to bed asking to go on another animal adventure the next day.  I love that he doesn’t notice all the little things that detract from what he thinks is incredible.

As I start to look into pre-schools for Robbie, I have come to a startling realization.  My child needs to be potty trained.  Desperately.  He cannot start pre-school and still be in Pull-Ups, which means we have a problem.  A friend emailed me the potty training bible, and , last Friday, I set out, determined to be done with diapers.  After all, Robbie uses the potty at daycare; he just doesn’t at home.

Robbie and I had a long talk about underpants and being a big boy.  He proudly marched into his room, sans pants and diaper, and threw away all of his Pull-Ups.  He was ready.

Ready to med with me.  I pumped him full of fluids, talked to him about rewards and being a big boy, and told him to let me know when he had to use the potty.  Thirty minutes later, we had our first accident.  And then our second.  And our third.  Within an hour and a half, we had six accidents.  One on the couch.

We realized fairly early on that they weren’t really accidents, but Rob really hammered that home when we put him in time out.  After about five seconds, we heard a flood hitting the floor.  Yup, accident number six.

At this point, Justin and I made an executive decision.  We knew he was messing with us, and we weren’t going to give into his game.  So, Robbie went back to Pull-Ups.  We’re doing a lot of talking about being a big boy and going to pre-school.  And I know he’s going to do it.  Except he’s going to do it on his terms, not mine.

This may come as a surprise to you, but Justin and I don’t get a lot of time without Robbie.  And we never get time together without him in our house.  For the first two weeks of summer, Robbie went to daycare a few time, and Justin and I relished in the quiet and the chance to actually spend time together without being worried about getting home in time for a babysitter.

The first few days, we mostly stuck around the house.  Lunch out.  Drinking coffee without anyone sticking their fingers in it.  Ice cream that we didn’t have to share.  And last Wednesday, we did something totally out of character.  At the last minute, we bought tickets and went to an afternoon game at Fenway.  They were the best tickets we’ve ever had – right behind home plate.  We grabbed lunch beforehand.  I learned how to keep score at a baseball game.  It was the perfect day.

Thursday, I went to the beach at the reservoir by myself.  I read a book.  I took a nap.  And then, after a few hours, I got Robbie and brought him back to have some fun together.  Believe it or not, it’s much easier to be a fun parent when you don’t have to see your child every second of every day.

I told Justin it felt like we were dating again; it felt like time before kids.  Except something was different; this time we actually appreciate our time together.  We know how precious it is and are able to enjoy each other as something other than parents.  What a magical gift that is to see after all these years, to remember how it used to be and know that it’s even sweeter now that the time is so rare.

He’s definitely not ready to be the man of the house, but Robbie has definitely started to fill the role of boy of the house.  I’m certain it has something to do with a lovely book by the name of The Happiest Toddler on the Block…  It was only a few weeks ago that he had four or five tantrums a day, took three hours to go to bed, and generally drove us crazy.

However, all of a sudden, he wants to be involved in everything.  Wednesday night, we went to the store and I left all the groceries at the top of the stairs.  I had gone into the next room to clear some space on the counter.  When I turned around, Robbie was lugging a gallon of milk, muttering, “Heavy.  QiQi super strong.  I got it.”  And then he went back for more, rolling the watermelon down the hall and into the kitchen and, eventually, unpacking all of the groceries for me.

Later, he went outside with me to take the trash out.  And there was a lot of trash.  Like, a lot.  A Herbie.  Seven bags of trash.  A bin with a dried and crumbled 60-pound bag of cement.  Insulation from a water heater.  And a few smaller things.  Don’t you know, my darling child tried to take the heaviest bag out for me?  Eventually, he settled for the few smaller items, so proud of himself every time he set something on the curb.

But maybe having those few really rough months was worth it.  After all, now I can appreciate the wonderful little boy he is on his way to becoming even more.

And so it begins.  The massive disaster that is packing our house.  My sister came up to help us for three day, packing our kitchen, dining room, hall closet, and Robbie’s room.  That left me with the basement.

Oh, the basement.  Where I came face-to-face with my cleaning strategy for the past five-and-a-half-years.  You know, the old throw-everything-in-a-box-and-put-it-in-the-back-of-the-basement strategy?  Except, after so long, there was no more back of the basement.  In fact, everything had crept pretty darn close to front of the basement.

There were bins upon bins upon bins.  And boxes.  And bags.  And random things on the floor.  Baby clothes that brought back memories of my sweet little boy.  Christmas decorations from my childhood and my grandmother’s house.  Student work samples from my first teaching job eleven years ago.  Junk mail from 2006.  W-2’s from 2001, 2005, 2006, 2010, and 2011.  My birth certificate.  Robbie’s birth certificate.  You know, the usual stuff you find in a basement.

Three bags of baby clothes went to a student who just had a little boy.  A carload went to the curb and slowly disappeared over the next several days.  A carload went to GoodWill.  Four huge boxes of paper were recycled.  Oh, and eight large garbage bags were thrown out.

There are still two bins to go through because, well, I kind of used that I’ll-throw-everything-into-these-two-bins-to-sort-later strategy.  I’m hoping to get to “later” soon…

Father’s Day meant fishing at the beach for Justin.  There wasn’t a lot out there to catch, but he did manage to snare a rare sea creature.  The Robfish.  It’s a strange breed, preferring to be dragged around the sand after it is caught.  It can be dangerous work, but Justin managed it well.

And now, of course, Robbie keeps asking to go fishing again…  I don’t think he has any idea what real fishing is.

An old friend came into town last weekend, so Justin and I decided he needed to try the best ice cream around.  After lunch in Harvard Square and a game of frisbee  on Lexington Green, we headed out to Bedford Farm for some ice cream.  While we waited in line, Robbie sized up the kids who had already received their ice cream.  Within seconds, he was seated on a bench next to three little girls.

I looked over just in time to see a glint in Robbie’s eye as he leaned over and kissed the little girl sitting next to him on the arm.  Surprised, the only thing I could say was, “Robbie!  We don’t kiss girls we don’t know!”  The little girl shot off the bench, ran to her mom, and screeched, “Mom!  That boy kissed me!” in a voice as disgusted as she could manage.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Eventually, I was able to lure Robbie away from his first kiss with the promise of an ice cream cone.  However, he encountered her again on our way back to the car.  She immediately ran closer to her mom, narrowed her eyes, pointed at Robbie, and yelled, “There’s that kissing boy, Mom!”

We exchanged names – hers is Shelby – because we wanted to make sure that we knew the name of our children’s’ first kisses.  While we did, Robbie tried to sneak over to kiss her one more time.  Shelby screamed and ran behind her mom.  And thus begins Robbie’s girl-crazy ways; every day since then he has asked me to take him to go see girls…

As we all know, my child has been making me crazy.  So crazy that I was finally forced to (gasp!) buy a parenting book.  In a moment of weakness, I downloaded The Happiest Toddler on the Block.  And.  It.  Has.  Changed.  My.  Life.  It starts off talking about how our children are actually cave people – finally, someone who understands – and I was immediately hooked.  The book has helped me diffuse tantrums and learn to talk to Robbie so he actually listens to what I’m staying instead of just hearing blah, blah, blah.

However, despite all my reading (I’m only 65 pages in), the morning got off to a very rocky start.  Somehow, I wound up with a barefoot child at church.  Who wanted to make ambulance noises.  And throw Cheerios.  It was brutal.  Eventually, we left, which was, surprisingly, the biggest punishment I could have imagined.  All Robbie wanted was to go back to church…

So, after that disastrous start, I read a little further into my book and got to the chapter on encouraging “green light” behaviors.  It’s pretty typical stuff that you tend to forget in the day-to-day routine of life, but there was one section that really grabbed my attention.  It was called “Hand Checks.”  Sure this didn’t mean that I could hand check my child when he was doing good things, I read on.  The whole process is actually quite simple.  When you see your child doing something good, you put a check mark on his hand.

Intrigued, I figured I’d give it a shot.  Robbie offered a please and thank you unprovoked, so I drew a checkmark on his right hand.  A grin spread across his face, and he asked for another one.  By the end of the day, he had five checkmarks, and I had a pleasant child who got his toenails clipped without fuss (he has never let me do it while he was awake), helped make dinner, and started to pick up some of his toys.

Of course, the ink washed off in the tub, which provided me with a greater opportunity to encourage more good behavior.  He brushed his teeth all on his own.  He stayed in bed when I asked him to.  All for a few checkmarks.  Brilliant.  I can’t wait to give him more tomorrow.