Monday, December 12, 2011

Throwing the Game

The rugrat is now 20 months old.
That's a full-on toddler for those of you who don't know and over a year and a half for those of you who can't do math.
He's a ball of energy, so sweet, and so forgiving - and other times he's hell-on-size-8C-shoes, but I digress.

Yesterday my husband and I are playing "football" with the kid.
"Here, take the ball from Daddy! TACKLE!" and they'd both tumble to the ground in a heap of giggles and exposed buttcracks (neither can seem to hold up a pair of pants with or without the aid of a belt or a butt).
Eventually Daddy decided to try tossing the football at the kid.
Who is still working on fine motor skills.
So, ya know, the football, covered in blue smiling smurfs, beans him right in his grinning, gap-toothed face.
"Oh no! I'm sorry!" Daddy scoops him up and covers his little face with kisses and the game was back on.
Several minutes later my husband looks at me and says: "Wonder if that hurts? I better try it out." I watch in disbelief as he takes off his glasses, removes his hat and positions the football a few inches from his face.
The football, so carefully aimed, flies OVER his curly head, past the baby gate, down the hallway and into the laundry room.
"How in the HELL did you miss THAT?!?!?" I cried in between gasps of hornking laughter.
"Ahahahahah! I'm AWESOME!" he said.
And then got tackled by a toddler seeking revenge and packing wooden blocks.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You know I had to stop and count the months on my fingers. -C