The Jr. VP has recently decided that playing outside is the best thing in the universe. Specifically he enjoys the acquisition of a nice stick, and then the hitting of things (cars, garbage cans, daddies . . .) with said stick. Luckily for the boy the HQ is blessed with an abundance of sticks, in all sizes. I in fact spend all winter picking them out of what passes for our lawn; I’ve got a nice pile of them next to our driveway for Jr. to play with. The CFO gets annoyed when I refer to our bundle of sticks using the proper term (Honey, I’m going to go throw some branches on that giant faggot in the driveway) but it’s not my problem that she is stuck with a middle-school mindset and can’t appreciate the correct use of a word.
I’m trying to channel the boy’s fascination with whomping stuff with sticks toward baseball. I hung up a wiffle ball on a string in our garage, and showed him how to hit it with a plastic bat. He’d rather hit me (lucky in our baseball league cups are required), but he does seem to get the idea that the bat is used to hit the ball, too. It’s a start.
Ah, Springtime is in the air: baseball, sun, playing outside. And one other thing: Jr. saw some squirrells acting crazy the other day, and it looked like maybe they were going to fight. Jr. was concerned. I took a look. Son, those squirrels aren’t fighting. Let’s go inside now and give them some privacy, shall we?
