On Your Mark...Get Set...Slow...

It’s recently come to my attention that 95% of my interaction with my son is physical. Whether it be chase, swashbuckling, walks, tractor rides, or more chasing, our days are filled with cross fit-like activities. 

But when I jammed up my big toe something awful, (something to do with kicking an empty paper box that was not so empty), I realized that other than reading books before bed and eating together, well, we’re on the run.

So I’ve got to stay healthy. Because being a peg legged pirate isn’t as fun as it looks.

I would post pictures of my foot, but there’s no need to gross anyone out. I’m rebounding quickly, and Simon has been helping with my ice packs and making sure my boo boo looks okay. Then, two minutes later he's all like, Daddy, come on.

So it’s killing me not to do our thing. But I’m on the mend, and the dogs are still expecting their walks. I guess I’m kind of needed around here. One thing is for sure, I won’t take my health for granted again. Or kick boxes. 

Teach me how to keep an ax in my bed.

That, my friends, is a direct quote. My son has taken a keen interest in weaponry as of late. That's right, it's not that we don't still play with the tractors and farm animals....just that the pirates have commandeered the tractors and now a siege is underway.

As far as the ax thing, it's not as bad as it sounds. The kid's not Norman Bates...I was the one using the hatchet. He’s into Robin Hood and Ice Age. And I'm not exactly putting my foot down (nonviolently of course, not kicking or stomping). But once you start to notice it, anything, from cartoons to books, has some level of violence. Whatever, that's for another day. 

This new stage isn't all doom and gloom, either. I sort of knew it was coming. I can’t tell you how much fun it was plucking a branch from a tree and fashioning a bow out of a stick and some string, just like I did when I was a kid. After I got the bow working, we searched the yard for arrows. Then we hunted a Sabre-toothed tiger. (I’m okay with hunting tigers that have been extinct for 11,000 years). Watching my kid out there, beneath a tree, bare foot and crouching with this homemade bow, I was swept away with his imagination. 

The bow took some finesse however, and after a while elected to use his trusty spear (stick). When that failed he turned to his trusty foam sword—a gift from Papa. Let me tell you, my wife loves that thing. 

From what I’ve gathered all of this is normal. I'm sure anyone reading this with boys (or some girls), will tell me that it's to be expected. Besides, I played with toys guns, swords, knives, a machete, Japanese throwing stars, nun-chucks, bow &arrows, fireworks, stink bombs, BB guns, and can distinctly remember putting at least one nail through a bat for maximum carnage (I saw it in a movie). And look at me, I turned out just fine.

But no, I don’t think we need to build such an arsenal for my son. I’m fine with the foam swords for now.

The main thing is teaching him right from wrong. Because there are going to be weapons. All sorts of weapons. It's a dangerous world, so we need to be sure that out son knows he’s loved. Because love is the—*we interrupt this post to bring you a special report. The current sentence is loaded with cheesiness. Please be advised of heavy use of cliches, sappy sentiment, and eye rolling dribble*—best weapon of all.

Anyway, sure, we sleep with a sword under our pillows. We hunt prehistoric animals. We ask when we might be able to get our mitts on the staple gun. But overall, I think we’re going to be okay.