We celebrated at his second favorite place on the planet, Peter Piper Pizza. First place goes to Disneyland, but a trip to Disney and back in one day would have required a ship faster than Captain EO's. Coincidentally, Peter Piper is the same pizza joint where I celebrated many a little league win while attempting the high score on Road Blasters.
Within five minutes of arrival, my son hit the jackpot on a ball game called Raptor Captor. 1000 big ones. And by big ones I mean paper tickets that can be redeemed for a variety of Chinese manufactured lead-based choking hazards. With those skills, the boy has a bright future as a professional slot player.
My little man loves presents, and lucky for us, is very easy to please. From one of his aunties, he got a potato sack race kit. You know what a sack race is. Put both feet in a bag. Begin race. Jump as fast and as far as possible. End race. Repeat.
In case it has been more than a few years (in my case about 30 years) since you last competed in a sack race, here's a warning. It is really f-ing hard. Chances are that since you were a child, you have gained some weight, lost some flexibility, and developed nagging hip/leg/knee pain. This handicap (and I mean that in the sports-betting sense, not the reserved-parking sense) will drastically impact your performance in the sack.
My son and daughter are in peak sack-race condition and barreled around the kitchen in their sacks, while the wife and I could barely muster a few lame jumps without falling over and shrieking with fear.
If you would like to see your children absolutely dominate you on the field, get them some potato sacks. They'll have to let YOU win. And don't for a minute think this is an acceptable substitute.
Sack race madness, presents galore, pizza, Star Wars cake, and a surprise visit from our Elf on the Shelf? Yeah, turning four is pretty awesome. I love you, dude.
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