My man has been traveling quite a bit lately in order to take care of business before the bambino arrives. When he returned home yesterday after 5 days on the road (or in the air), he and the punk enjoyed hours of bonding time: wrestling, playing with balls, tickling, and more wrestling. And I enjoyed watching them.
Very few things make me happier than witnessing the giggles, squeals, and bright eyes of a little boy playing with his daddy.
So today, when we awoke to 8 inches of fresh snow and my man invited his boy outside for some sledding, I couldn't resist joining them. As a spectator of course. A fat, awkward spectator with a sore back and a coat that won't button.
First they tried sledding down the cinderblock steps. It was a little bumpy.
So my man made a circular path in the flat section of the backyard and pulled the punk around and around. The little guy repeatedly yelled, "This is fun!"
Then my man lead the punk under the apple tree and showed him what happens when you shake the trunk.
The punk also enjoyed a lesson on the merits of eating snow.
This is what marriage and family is all about, and this is why I married my opposite in almost every subject. I can teach the punk to sing, but his daddy is in charge of all kinesthetics.