Tagged: Pop Warner football

My son, the Legomaniac

A Bedtime Story

My daughter hooked her arm securely around mine as I held her at my hip–a cripplingly cute mannerism of hers that melts me to my core every single time.

Vocalizing airplane sound effects, I made an extravagant production of swooping my giggling passenger down to the floor to pick up each member of the Hundred Acre Wood institutionalized as her Bedtime Crew, currently featuring Piglet (her go-to daytime stuffty) as well as Winnie the Pooh and Tigger (the night-shift support staff who allow for optimal snugglization).

Piglet, Pooh, and Tigger - My Daughter's Bedtime Crew

Her teeth brushed and hands washed, she knew we were coming up on bedtime and began her nightly wind-down ritual: gripping Piglet and Company, sticking her beloved right thumb in her mouth, and embracing day’s end with open arms and heavy eyelids.

Our son, however–currently in his mother’s arms–was performing his own nightly routine: maniacal arm-flails punctuated by Oscar-worthy whines. Never ready to pack it in, he’ll dash for the playroom or point at the turned-off tv in a last-ditch effort to stay up just a little longer, to milk as much out of the day as possible. There are still so many blocks to stack, so many books to read, so many Sing-Along Songs to groove to.

And while his unrelenting desire to be awake can be burdensome, I don’t ever fault him for it.

He gets it from me.

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Twinfamy Heisman Trophy

We Need More Balls

“We need more balls!” my wife cried urgently.

Giggling, I replied “That’s what she sai–”

“Don’t. Just get another one.”

The Ball We Need More Of

The Ball We Need More Of

We were in the midst of a Clash of the Ti-twins over a ball, only one of which was out in the living room with them. When an item changes hands between my loinfruits every five seconds punctuated by banshee screams and floor flails, it can get ugly pretty quickly, hence my wife’s desperation. She kept them separated like a boxing referee listening to The Offspring while I hopped the baby gate and scoured the playroom for more balls, trying to suppress the flood of terribly unfunny ball-related innuendos I wanted to crack.

Does ball size matter?
Where would you like me to put the balls?
Will the deflated balls still work?

See? Just terrible. Anyway…

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