Oh, yeah...

Last night there was a bicycle race in Whitefish Bay (our future crib, yo) and we took Peter to go see the excitement. He had seen one last year - the Downer Avenue race when he was about 2 1/2 months old (he loved it, I swear) - so this was nothing new for him. We thought the race was going to start at 5:00, but the pros didn't get going until 6:15, and in that time the we were waiting Peter got pumped up to play with the other kids who were also waiting for the race. He ran up and down the boulevard we were sitting on, either going for a run on his own or chasing the bigger kids. I don't know if it was by design or just luck, but his chasing only caught one prey, little Henry Clark, and he got him repeatedly. Henry wasn't thrilled having a 14 month old trying to tackle him so I'd have to pick Peter up and bring him back to base camp. But he'd waste no time in running back into the action. This had an effect on him physically, and one could easily see his mind trying to push him places his feet couldn't take him. At one point he fell in front of one of the moms of the neighborhood, and in getting up he grabbed a handfull of grass and tossed it joyously in the air - only to have most of it land on the mom. I told her he was just practicing his lawn maintenance then ran after the very tanned streak as he shot off towards Henry again.

Eventually his legs told a story that his mouth refused to recount, and I dragged him back to our seating area and strapped him into his stroller. I felt his head and it was hotter than the blacktop that had been sitting out in the sun all afternoon. He then whined and pointed at his juice box, and chugged just about everything in it before accidentally squirting out the rest into his face. It made him a little sticky, but I'm sure it cooled him off.

By the time the race started Peter was cooled off but his butt was dragging. He wanted to play, but, as noted in Blade Runner, the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and Peter's light was blinding that evening. We left after about 5 laps of a 70-something lap race and I strapped Peter into his car seat. He shrieked and cried like it was the worst thing in the world, but he was asleep in the car by the time we hit the highway. He slept pretty well that night, but none of us were too keen on getting up in the morning.