And Henry pretends that he might actually have the will to kick a ball.
I asked Chooch to stop throwing dirt around, because he kept getting it in his eye, but mostly because I didn’t want it getting all over me. Of course he’s going to say no. So when I ask him why, he very matter-of-factly mumbled, “I have to.” I guess it’s kind of like when Henry asks me to stop punching him in the nads and I just can’t stop because there’s just something instilled in me saying that I have to do it. Maybe I might die if I stop, who knows, but I do know that it feels good when my fist connects with that doughy sack of balls.
Taking your kid to the park is less about letting him embrace the great outdoors and more about letting him burn off energy so that maybe he might go to bed early and let mommy and daddy remember what it was like back before their home was infiltrated by Noggin and loud screams. Well, the Noggin part, anyway.
Smiling for the camera has taken on new meanings.
Little boy hands are so fucking cute! I want to eat them between slices of whole wheat! Ok, they’re practically an incubator for swine flu and e.coli, so maybe I’ll just admire from afar.