A weekend with family

Yesterday was my nephew's ninth birthday party, so we made the 2 1/2 hour trip to my parents' house for the weekend. We got a later start Friday evening than we had wanted, and we came back early this morning to get home in time for a funeral. So the trip was one of the shorter ones we've taken.

We'll be heading back down there in May, so we'll make up for lost time then.

The birthday part was fun, and Biscuit enjoyed the time with his cousins. He also got to visit with my brother's dog (or possibly small horse) Jake, the miniature horses Cass and Domino, a rooster who finally figured out how to crow and does so all day, and some assorted friends and family.

After the party, everybody gathered at Mama's house for a belated Easter dinner -- ham, crockpot macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, assorted beans, homemade biscuits and more.

While dinner was in the works, my nephew and Biscuit hid Easter eggs. Grandmama had left the eggs out just so the boys could hide and hunt one last time.

Here are some pictures from the weekend:

I have nod idea what that face is about,
although it is one I've seen before!

Biscuit gives Domino some food.

Domino was so excited, he pulled
the bucket out of Biscuit's hands.

Biscuit tried to take the bucket back
and Domino snorted at him.

Biscuit hangs out in the treehouse. It has a fireman
pole right outside that window. Biscuit's still so
small, he has to have help to reach the pole.

This flower blooms in a different color every year.
This is one of those every-year hiding places.

Counting his eggs.

Out of the mouth of my babe

Here are a few things Biscuit has said recently:


Getting it straight: Biscuit and I were sitting at the table. He was eating, and I was flipping through a magazine. I saw a recipe I wanted to save, so I ripped the page out.

"Remember, you can tear a magazine, but not a book," I said to Biscuit.

I expected him to just say okay or yes or something like that.

But he said, "You can cut paper, but not pages."

So I said, "You can throw a baseball outside, but not in the house."

And he said, "You can drive fast in a race car, but not in a regular car."

I think Biscuit could've kept going, but put on the spot, I couldn't come up with anything else.


The nose knows: "Mmmmm. Mom, something smells really good," Biscuit said.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"It smells like ... CAKE!" Biscuit said.

"I'm not sure what smells like cake because we don't have any cake," I said.

"No, Mom," Biscuit said. "It smells like the INGREDIENTS for cake," and he pointed to the stack of icing ingredients I had on the table for my nephew's birthday cake.


Rules of the game: "Okay, guys. We're going to play a new card game," Biscuit said to Jeff and me last night.

"Okay," I said. "What is the game?"

"Well, here are the rules," Biscuit said. "I give out the cards. You get what you get, and you don't cry a fit about it."

And that's all he said. I think those rules are pretty clear.

Grocery store flowers

A post from The Daddy Man:

Kimmy has a vase with 12 roses in it, sitting on the kitchen counter.

They're red ... because that's her favorite color (and it just so happens to be the favorite color of the flower chooser, too).

They came from the grocery store (because when the boy realized the flower he picked for his Mama on the playground was nowhere to be found, he melted down in the day care parking lot).

Biscuit and I are finally getting over the colds we've had for the past week. We're both still coughing, but all the other stuff has gone away.

But now it's Kimmy's turn. We were hoping she was lucky enough to have this one pass her by, but by Sunday evening, we knew it was heading her way.

She had a fever and chills and bodyaches yesterday so bad that she stayed home from work.

So when I went to pick up Biscuit at day care, he told me that he had picked a flower for her when he was outside because "flowers make sick people feel better."

The problem was, by the time we got to the car, Biscuit couldn't find the flower he had picked. He searched frantically through his pockets, but it wasn't there.

And then he cried.

It wasn't the I'm-not-getting-my-way cry. I have no problem dismissing that cry. But this one was the my-world-has-ended cry. And when that one happens, I just feel bad for him.

There's a grocery store across the road from Biscuit's day care, so I took him over there and told him he could pick out some flowers for Kimmy. And he went straight for the red roses.

Once we got home, Biscuit walked in, yelled "SURPRISE!" and handed the flowers to his Mama. She made a big fuss and gave big hugs and kisses.

"Why did I get flowers?" Kimmy asked him.

"Because flowers make people feel better," he said.

"Why did you pick THESE flowers?" she asked him, thinking he was going to say "because they're red, and red is our favorite color."

Instead, he repeated his previous answer like he had said it 14 times already, "Because Mom ... they ... help ... sick ... people ... feel ... better."

Flowers with a side of attitude. Feel better, Mama.

The plague

By last Sunday evening, I could tell Biscuit wasn't feeling well. He was coughing. He has a runny nose. And he was running a low-grade fever. He was getting a cold.

By bedtime, he had pink eye.

The combo of the fever and pink eye meant he would need to stay home from day care Monday, so Jeff and I had the conversation about who had what going on, and who could stay home with Biscuit.

By Monday morning, the decision was made because I had pink eye, too.

By Monday evening, Jeff had the cold.

Biscuit's fever went away by Monday evening, but he and Jeff were sick all week.

Mine and Biscuit's eyes got better. Jeff's cold got better (although he still has the cough).

Then Sunday, I got the sniffles. By the time I left work Monday evening, I was sick.

As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew I wasn't going to work. I had a fever and chills, and I felt like someone had beaten me in the night.

I called in sick to work, and Jeff started getting himself and Biscuit ready to go. Biscuit was finally feeling better, too, and he was in a great mood. He was talking 90 miles per hour. He was active and climbing all over me.

And if I had felt better, I would've thought it was great. But as it was, I couldn't wait for Jeff to get him to day care.

I am more than ready for this plague to vacate our house!

Time on the playground

The first time I took Biscuit to a playground, he was still too small to climb the steps and ladders. I had to set him up on the platforms, then he could walk to the slide and come down. That was in the fall.

The following spring, we took Biscuit to the playground, and it was like he was a completely different kid. He took off running to the play equipment, climbed right up the steps, ran across the platform to the slide, and down he came. No lifting on my part. No help. He was on his own.

As he's gotten older, he has gained confidence on the playground. He takes more changes, and in turn, scares his mother more often!

There's this climbing wall that has a chain up the middle of it that a lot of playground have now. And Biscuit has mastered it. And it scares me to death. It's basically like repelling, except in reverse. He's climbing with his feet and pulling himself up with the chain. And I'm convinced he's going to let go and fall flat on his back.

Now, I have no evidence that this might happen. Biscuit knows what he's doing on this thing. He gets it. But any mom would know exactly how I feel. You think that if there's something bad that can happen, it probably will.

But it didn't. Biscuit climbed the thing like he always does, and I stood back fighting the urge to go stand behind him.

The slides are a completely different story. I would be fine with him going on the slides all day long. And this particular playground had about eight different slides -- short ones, long ones, curlique ones and bumpy ones.

Biscuit is still young enough to find pure joy in flying down a slide. He still makes slide noises. "Wheeeeeeee!" or sometimes "Yeeeeehaaaaaaw!" I think it's physically impossible for him to slide without smiling.

And Biscuit smiling makes me smile, too.

Best seat in the house

For some reason, Biscuit loves to sit on Jeff's shoulders while they watch TV together.

So when Biscuit wanted to watch the movie he got from the Easter Bunny, he climbed right up on Jeff's shoulders ... best seat in the house.

As we got to different parts of the movie, Biscuit would shift around a bit and change his facial expression, but he sat up there almost the whole time.

Here are some pictures of Biscuit on his perch:

Never again!

Remember last week about this time when I was talking about how the Easter egg hunts around here are way too big, and that's the very reason I had one at our house?

Well, I was crazy enough to get sucked in by a couple of friends to go to one of the egg hunts at a park in town. One of the friends couldn't make it. And the other got there too late for the hunt. Mainly because by the time she got there, she had to park on the other side of the park. And the park is big.

So Biscuit and I were there, waiting with all the other parents and kids. And it was weird.

They marked off a section of lawn, then walked around and threw out plastic eggs and little bags of candy. No hiding, just strowing.

 

See all those people standing outside the ropes? Well, it was like that on all four sides of the marked off area. And the closer it got to 11 a.m., the tighter the crowds got to the ropes. Biscuit and I were standing behind a family, but there was a perfect little hole for him to go through to get onto the field. 

But when the announcer said, "Two minutes to go!" these two women shoved in front of us with their two little kids. And this is where I struggled.

I want to set an example for my son. And everything I do and say in front of him is setting that example. That's not a conscious thought I have very often, but when things happen, like two rude women shoving in front of us at a kids' egg hunt, I have to think before I react.

What I wanted to do was say something rude and shove right back in front of them.

What I actually did was think some really rude thoughts and moved over to get Biscuit in a better position.

"Mom, they broke in line, and I can't get some eggs," Biscuit said.

"Yes, they did break in line, but we moved over a little bit, and I promise, you'll get onto the field in time to get some eggs."

I hope the women heard that they had been adult and mature enough to break in line in front of a small child. Of course, they didn't seem like they would've cared whether they were called rude or not.

Anyway, the announcer said at least 50 times that no parents should be on the field. The area was roped off and safe, and it would've been great if everyone had followed the rules.

But they didn't. Of course they didn't. Because that would've required common sense and a little bit of sanity.

So Biscuit was picking up eggs and slowly moving across the field. I snapped a few pictures of him, and then I saw the mass of parents invading the field. It was like a wave of grownups moving in from the right side. They covered the field, and I lost sight of Biscuit.

My heart started pounding, and my eyes were darting all around. So I joined the hoard and went out onto the field. I didn't have any other choice. I couldn't see my boy.

I was panicking. And I'm not ashamed to say it. I started calling his name, but it was so loud, there's no way he could've heard me.

I finally glanced up, just in time to see him getting ready to duck under the ropes, in the exact spot we started.

"GRIFFIN!" I hollered. He turned around and smiled at me, proud of all the eggs and candy he had picked up.

"Mom," he said with a little bit of exasperation in his voice. "I was coming back to you."

He had kept his bearings and knew where he was and where he was supposed to come back to.

"I'm sorry I moved," I said. "All those parents went out on the field, and I couldn't see you. I was so scared."

"I'm okay, Mom," Biscuit said. "And I got lots of eggs."

"Yes, you did," I said.

This was fine. Little kids on the field, picking up eggs.

This was the beginning of the parent invasion.

But in the end, Biscuit scored plenty of eggs and
candy. And he didn't seem the least bit fazed by it.

After the hunt was over, Biscuit and I went over to buy tickets to ride the merry-go-round and train. When we got to the ticket booth, there was a sign that said all the rides were free.

And the lines were LOOOOONG!!!

We rode the merry-go-round first. And dang if we didn't run into a rude parent there, too. This woman was standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking the way for me to put Biscuit on a horse.

"Excuse me," I said. "Can I set him up on this horse?"

She stared at me and didn't say a word and didn't move.

I looked at Biscuit and said, "Pick your feet up." And holding him like a javelin, I pointed his feet straight at the lady and walked forward. She gave me a glare and finally took a step back. But I got Biscuit on the horse. There was a bench right behind Biscuit's horse, so I sat down there and had a nice ride.

We hit the train next. Biscuit loves the train. And it does take a pretty little ride around the edge of the lake.

Biscuit said he had a good time today, but it would be fine by me to not go to one of these things again.

I told my friend to go ahead and save the date for the Saturday before Easter next year because we'll be hunting eggs at my house!

Easter's on its way

Easter is an odd holiday for us. We never know if we'll be home or be at my parents' house.

If my nephew's birthday falls on Easter weekend, like it did last year, we'll be there for his party (I usually make his cakes). But if Easter and his birthday are on different weekends, like they are this year, we stay home.

I struggle with holidays at home because it seems silly to cook a huge traditional meal for just the three of us. But since Biscuit got here, I at least want to try to get into decorations and treats.

After Biscuit arrived, I told my Mama that I wanted to collect some holiday decorations. Well, I only needed to say it once because she was on the lookout.

Every Easter bunny we have was something that Mama found and bought for us. Here are some of my favorites:

My Granny gave me a collection of milk glass, and
I think it looks pretty with the multi-colored eggs.

Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits.

This is my favorite. It's Jeff and me hiding eggs for Biscuit!

Plastic eggs, jellybeans and decorations on the dining room table.

This pretty little trinket is a music box. It plays "Easter Parade."

This little house has a sign over the
front door that says "Egg Factory."

When I was a kid, we had grade mothers at school. The grade mothers' main job was to provide food and treats for the holiday parties. That was back when we had Easter, Christmas and Halloween parties instead of spring, winter and fall festivals.

One of my favorite Easter treats Mama made for my class was Easter basket cupcakes. She made green frosting, then put three jelly beans on top of each one. Then she took pipe cleaners and bent them into an arch, sticking each end in either side of the cupcake. Each cupcake looked like a little Easter basket with eggs in it.

As I got older and got more involved in the kitchen, Mama and I would make chocolate-covered peanut butter eggs and chow mien noodle bird nests. And we often made something lemon. Nothing says spring like a lemon dessert.

So this evening, I decided to carry on some of mine and Mama's traditions. I made the bird nests and some lemon sandwich cookies with vanilla-almond filling. I wanted to make the chocolate-covered peanut butter eggs, but I just didn't have the gumption!

Plus, we've got a package of six store-bought ones on the kitchen counter. Maybe that'll work for this year!

Here are the treats I made:

My ducks are in a row

The biggest part of my new job is organizing and reorganizing and organizing some more. It's quite honestly the biggest part of my job.

I manage two email accounts, two in-house reporters, about 12 freelance writers, social media sites (personal and professional) and a website. Most of the emails have photos attached, and everybody is asking me for something.

But I'm good at organizing. I think that's the main reason they hired me for the job.

When Biscuit was born, I had created some pretty intricate systems for keeping track of his clothes. I had heard how fast they grow into and out of clothes, so I had it all under control. And it's still working.

That said, the very first pediatrician's appointment we had was the day after we got home from the hospital. I got myself ready. Jeff got himself ready. I got Biscuit dressed and bundled into his car seat. Then Mama said, "Where's his diaper bag?"

"Huh?" was my response.

Nobody had told me anything about a diaper bag. We had two of them, one for me and one for Jeff. But they were both still in the closet with the tags on them. After I had a little breakdown and got the how-are-you-ever-going-raise-a-child look from my Mama, I threw some diapers and wipes in the bag, and away we went.

The appointment was fine, and I learned that as soon as you get home, you restock your diaper bag, so it's ready to go as soon as you are.

But that was just cluelessness, not being unorganized.

I love containers and baskets and boxes and anything that will contain things in a neater way. There's a whole store I used to go to that sells nothing but organizational products. I've gotten some really cool things from there, some that I actually needed and some that were just really cool!

One thing that Jeff really likes right now is a day-of-the-week clothes organizer.

It hangs from Biscuit's closet rod, and over the weekend, I can load it up for the whole next week -- pants, shirts, underwear, socks, even pajamas. And when Jeff dresses Biscuit in the morning, all he has to do is grab what's in that day's cubby.

My organizational skills are why I struggle with how my house looks right now. On one hand, I'd love to back a dump truck up to the front door and sweep everything out. But then I look around and realize that aside from the mail and magazines, most everything that's out of place is Biscuit's stuff -- trucks and cars, books and crayons, balls and bats and cowboy and fire stuff.

So for now, I'll put as many ducks in a row as I can and just live with the rest until I can line them up.

The Tube Heads

My name is Kim, and I'm a tube head. I love to watch TV. I don't even care if it's good TV. I just like to watch.

Some people refer to people like me as Tube Heads.

And I'm going to start referring to my son as Tube Head Jr.

Biscuit doesn't get to watch a lot of TV. He watches a show in the morning, then two shows in the evening. Altogether, it's about an hour a day (the shows on his channel are 20 minutes long).

Every once in a while, if I'm cooking dinner, and Jeff isn't home yet, I'll let Biscuit watch TV in my bedroom, just to keep him occupied and out of the way of the hot stove. And that's what happened this evening.

But as I put dinner in the oven, I realized that I'd have about 30 minutes of waiting time and thought it would be a good time to play.

Biscuit has been crazy for hide-and-go-seek for the past few weeks (or hide-and-go-seekety-seek as he's taken to calling it lately). So just as I closed the oven door, I turned around and started counting out loud. I got to about 8 before Biscuit caught on, then I heard the patter of his little feet running to a hiding place.

I have a closet in my kitchen that is under the stairs. My father-in-law, as one of his yearly projects, built shelves in there for me, and it left just enough room to walk in there and stand. And that's one of Biscuit's favorite hiding places. The funny thing is that I was standing about 6 feet away from him when he scampered into the kitchen, opened the closet door, walked in, turned on the light, and closed the door.

Nope. No way I could tell where he was!

So I made a big fuss about going into the bedroom to look for him, then walking into the dining room to look for him, then finally coming back to the kitchen to look for him. I looked under the table. I looked on the other side of the counter, keeping an out-loud running monologue the whole time. And finally, I said, "Oooo. I didn't think about the closet. I wonder if he's in there?" And as soon as I opened the door, he had this huge grin on his face like he had really pulled one over on me.

So then Biscuit said it was my turn to hide. He ran into the bedroom and started counting.

I thought it would be funny to hide in the same closet where Biscuit was. I figured either that would be the first place he looked, or he'd think that there's no way I'd hide in the same place he just came out of.

I was beginning to think the second part of that statement was true.

There I was, standing in the dark. Waiting ... and waiting ... and waiting ... and waiting.

The oven timer went off, and I finally had to come out of my hiding place.

I took dinner out of the oven, then walked into my bedroom to find Biscuit sitting on the end of the bed watching TV.

HE NEVER EVEN LOOKED FOR ME!

Tube Head Jr. got so wrapped up in whatever show was on, he forgot that we were playing.

"Hey!" I said, startling Biscuit. "Why didn't you come look for me? I was hiding from you!"

"But Mom," he said, "I thought we were done playing. I was watching TV."

"Well, you told me to go hide, and you counted to 20, so I thought you were looking for me," I said to him.

"Oh. Sorry Mom," he said.

And that was it. See if I play hide-and-go-seekety-seek with him anymore!

He's S-s-s-s-s-scottish

Biscuit's teacher is doing two weeks of lessons on culture and diversity. She sent home a paper for the parents to fill out about ethnic heritage, holidays, food, language, etc.

At first, I looked at the sheet and thought, "Well, we don't have anything out of the ordinary. We celebrate all the regular holidays. We don't eat anything special. We don't speak any other languages. Yep, we're plain jane."

The only thing I could think of was the Scottish stuff on my side of the family.

About 25 years ago, my uncle tracked my Mama's side of our family all the way back to the Scottish Highlands. The bigger families were called clans (my family is Clan Ross), and there were smaller families that were septs to the clans. Septs were families that were too small to stand on their on in battles, so they joined up with clans that lived near them for protection.

Each clan has two tartans -- one dress and one hunting. And they're worn just as you'd think -- dress for when nicer clothes were appropriate and hunting for everyday work and hunting.

There are also special clothes for special occasions, like the outfits worn by bagpipers or Highland dancers.

So because I'm a big dork, and I always loved school projects, and because other than taking Biscuit to the Highland games this past year I haven't taught him anything about Scotland, I decided that I would gather some photos and music to send to day care with Biscuit.

His teacher was really excited to get the CDs I sent. I think she was just excited that a parent was interested in what she was trying to do. You'd be surprised by how many parents don't participate in the kids' projects.

Anyway, I put some bagpipe music on one CD, then I made another CD with the photos below.

So Biscuit took notice of all of this information, and the other night, when he was in the bathtub, I could tell he had something on his mind.

"Mom, that music that you sent to my day care ... what was that called?" Biscuit asked.

"You mean the bagpipe music?" I asked.

"Yeah, bagpipe music," Biscuit said. "Bagpipes." He said "bagpipes" like he was trying to commit the word to memory.

"Mom, where did that music come from?" Biscuit asked.

"Well, do you remember your uncle that plays bagpipes?" I asked him, and he nodded. "He had a CD of bagpipe music, and he let me borrow it."

"But Mom," Biscuit said, "where did it COME from?" Biscuit asked.

"Oh," I said, finally realizing what he was asking me. "It's music from Scotland."

"Yeah," Biscuit said. "Scotland ... SCOTland ... Sssssscotland." He kept saying it over and over, stretching out the S sound at the beginning.

"Mom, can we go to Scotland sometime?" Biscuit asked.

I laughed. "Well, Scotland is a really, really long way away," I told him. "We'd have to get on an airplane and fly across the ocean."

"I'd like to fly on a plane, Mom," Biscuit said.

"It also costs a lot of money to go to Scotland, and we don't really have that much money right now," I told him. "Hey! Do you remember Ms. R, Mama's friend at work?" 

Biscuit nodded his head.

"She's going to Scotland in April," I told him.

"And we're going to meet her there?" Biscuit asked.

"No," I said. "We won't be meeting her there."

"But Mom," Biscuit said. "I bet Scotland is beautiful!"

"From the pictures I've seen, you're right," I said. "Would you like to see some pictures of Scotland on the computer?"

"Yeah," Biscuit said. "That would be good, Mom."

A little time passed, then Biscuit asked, "Mom, do they make bagpipes for kids?"

"I don't know, baby, but I'll check into it," I told him.

Sounds like Biscuit is enjoying having a connection to his heritage.

Easter egg hunt

I enjoy living in a city. There are lots of things to do. The closest grocery store is 1 mile from my house. There are lots of restaurants and shopping places. Lots of choices.

But sometimes, there are things I miss about being from a small community outside of a small town.

Like the Easter egg hunts we had growing up.

There were about 150 people in the church I grew up in. Everybody knew everybody, and I was called down by more than of the ladies there. Back then, in a small community, when a church lady called you down, it didn't matter whether it was your Mama or your Granny or your Aunt or somebody not even kin to you, you did what she said.

And it was those same ladies that threw the best Easter egg hunts.

The hunts were broken down by Sunday school class, so you were hunting eggs with kids your very same age. There was no pushing or shoving or bigger kids knocking down smaller kids. If that happened, you knew one of those ladies was going to yank you by the arm and remind you quite sternly of your manners.

Those ladies also always had candy for us. Some of them gave it to us in bags. Some of them doled it out into the baskets we brought. But my favorite was when the Sunday school teachers would collect a bunch of the little plastic baskets that strawberries came in and make pipe cleaner handles for them. They'd add some green plastic grass, then fill them up with candy. The last touch would be when they opened the marshmallow Peeps and tore off a couple for each kid. I always ate mine right away because I don't like them stale.

Those Easter egg hunts were what prompted me to have one at our house Saturday. 

In the size city we live in, there are a lot of hunts to choose from, but they're just too big for my taste. So we invited several of Biscuit's friends to come to our house.

And it was also a chance for me to feed people -- something I really enjoy. I decided to bake a ham for ham biscuits, but have you ever tried to buy a ham two weeks before Easter? It's like they don't exist until the week of Easter.

Naturally, I called Mama to ask where to get one, and she had the answer for me.

I got to the store, and there were about eight different kinds -- spiral sliced hams, picnic hams, smoked pork loins, whole bone-in hams and more. Another lady was there staring at all of them like I was. "How do you know what kind to get?" she asked me.

And like I had known her 40 years, I said, "Mama likes butts, but I didn't see any. I called her to see what the second choice would be, but she isn't home."

While I was telling her this, I was rambling through the hams they had. Just as I said Mama wasn't home, I leaned down and saw two butt hams way in the back. I grabbed them both, then handed one to the other lady. She thanked me, then just like that, she put it in her buggy and rolled away.

That felt like something that would happen in the small town I grew up in, not the bigger town I live in now.

Anyway, I finally got my ham.

So Biscuit and three friends played while the Dads hid the eggs in the back yard, then it was time to hunt. Two of the boys are 3 and Biscuit and the other boy are 4. So when the Dads asked how hidden the eggs needed to be, the Moms had to remind them who they were hiding for.

The boys seemed to enjoy the hunt. I'm pretty sure they found all the eggs. I used plastic eggs (each egg had a piece of candy inside), so if they did leave any behind, we won't have a stinky yard next week!

The hunt didn't last too long. It was actually the shortest part of the day. Once they figured out that the eggs had candy inside, there was no getting them back to hide them again. If we do a hunt again next year, I think we'll hide eggs in the front yard and the back yard. Then they can hunt at least twice.

After the hunt, the boys played on the swingset and played baseball. I think they all had a good time.

When the time came for everybody to start leaving, one of the Moms overheard Biscuit ask me, "Mom, is it close to my naptime?"

I assured him that he could take his nap as soon as everyone left. What can I say, my boy has his priorities.

I didn't check with the other parents to see if I could post their kids pictures here, so here are some pictures of Biscuit:

Don't walk away! You're leaving two eggs!

Two times ... TWO TIMES ... he fell out of this swing onto his head.
Shouldn't he have figured out it was a bad idea after the first time?!?

Is there anything sadder than a kid alone on a see-saw?

I'm not sure what the cheering was
about, but who cares, he's happy!